


an enormous and dangerous secret

by panaili



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Animal Death, Assault, Cabeswater Reborn, Death Threats, Forced Starvation, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Magician Adam Parrish, Post-The Raven King, Swearing, The Raven King Spoilers, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9271148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panaili/pseuds/panaili
Summary: “Please keep in mind who holds the cards here, Mr. Lynch,” Mathias cautioned. “We have a simple deal. You create what I ask and no one gets hurt. Any deviation from that, and you’ll find I can be very creative when it comes to getting what I want.”-The truth about Ronan was an enormous and dangerous secret.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: basically I thought “wow I wonder how someone could force Ronan to dream things for them?” and in conclusion, I’m going to hell.
> 
> ** Please heed the warnings listed in the title listing & at the end of each chapter **
> 
> Many thanks to @Maliciousways, who is an amazing beta and enabler of this fanfic nonsense.

 

 

 

They came on a sunny Saturday morning.

A knock on the door interrupted breakfast, which Ronan and Adam were eating so late it should rightfully be called brunch. The summer after Adam’s freshman year at college had proven busy despite all attempts otherwise, and they had taken the rare opportunity to sleep late while Opal was having a sleepover at 300 Fox Way. Chainsaw had flown out exploring sometime that morning and hadn’t been seen since. 

At the knock, Adam looked up, puzzled. “Were we expecting someone?”

Ronan shrugged, mouth full of pancake.

Adam twisted off his seat to walk to the door, slightly more presentable than Ronan with a t-shirt on as well as pajama pants.

However, just as he reached the foyer, the door burst open with a loud crash, and men stormed into the hall. Adam stumbled back, startled, and Ronan jumped up, but in the blink of an eye there were four men rushing forward, dressed in dark shades and sporting guns.

Two of them grabbed at Adam, slamming him into the wall, and Ronan saw red. He launched himself at the nearest man, laying him out with a punch, and turned to face the other one, who was crowding forward to grab him. His gun was holstered, which Ronan thought was kind of stupid – why bring the guns if you were planning on getting into a fistfight? – but he was more than willing to take advantage.

Ronan got three solid punches in before the second man rejoined and managed to connect a hit to his stomach, sending him flying into the kitchen counter. He gasped, reclaiming his breath and staggering forward again, ready to keep going, but then—

“Mr. Lynch,” a voice called over the din, sounding silken and vile. “Why don’t we just calm down, now?”

The men stepped back, arms lowering but defenses still ready. They had finally pulled out their guns and aimed them at him in warning. Despite his alarm, Ronan looked past the men to see a pale man in a black suit, smiling politely like this was nothing more than a business meeting. 

Then he saw Adam. His arms were pinned behind his back by another man, and there was a thin stream of blood dripping from his temple from where he had collided with the wall. A second man was pressing a handgun into Adam’s neck, making the threat painfully clear.

Adam stared back at Ronan, expression blank but eyes terrified.

The man in the suit noticed Ronan freezing, eyes on Adam, and he smiled. “Ah, yes,” he said, laughing lightly like it was a joke. “We were told you were a fighter, Mr. Lynch. I didn’t want to waste time trying to subdue you. I’d rather talk.” 

Ronan tore his eyes away from Adam, glaring daggers at the man. Snarling, he snapped, “Fucking talk then. Why don’t you start with who the fuck you are?”

“My name is Mathias Kilsgard,” he said, stepping forward. He gestured to the table, where Ronan and Adam’s breakfasts remained half-eaten. “Do you want to sit?”

Ronan didn’t move or speak, maintaining his glower. He could see Adam out of the corner of his eye and no, _no_ , he couldn’t look at Adam, couldn’t see the blood on his face or the gun by his jaw. He had to hold it together.

“No?” Mathias asked. He had the smooth tongue and elegant look of a practiced politician, with mahogany hair and warm brown eyes. “That’s fine. I suppose we can make this quick. I would like to propose a business transaction, Mr. Lynch.”

“I would like you to get the fuck out of my house, dickface,” Ronan snapped back.

“Mm,” Mathias said, pursing his lips. His eyes darted over to the men holding Adam, just a quick glance, but in the next second they had kicked Adam’s legs out and forced him to kneel. His arms were released but one of the men kept a tight grip on his shoulder while the other placed the gun at the back of his head.

Adam didn’t meet Ronan’s eyes, staring at the ground and flinching away from where the cold iron dug into his head. His hands were braced on his thighs and shaking.

“You were saying, Mr. Lynch?” Mathias asked, tone light and pleasant like they were exchanging casual conversation at a dinner party.

Ronan could barely breathe, eyes pinned to the gun, the blood, Adam’s shaking hands. It felt like a nightmare.

Unbidden, he heard himself say, “What do you want?”

“I have been informed that you possess a very special talent, Mr. Lynch,” Mathias said. “Most of my colleagues seem to think it’s a device of some kind, but then, they are, frankly, novices in the world of magic, and wouldn’t know a dreamer if they, say, beat one to death in his driveway.” 

Ronan tore his gaze away from Adam and stared at Mathias. The man stared back placidly, still smiling his polite businessman smile.

He swallowed. Forced himself to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, are you really going to try that?” Mathias asked, sounding almost petulant in his exasperation. “Your daughter has hooves. You have floating lights that appear like clockwork every night like fireflies. One of your best friends drives a car with no engine.”

Ronan flinched. Mathias, raising an eyebrow, took notice. “Oh, yes, Mr. Lynch, we’ve been watching. I don’t play games with my investments. And I don’t want to waste time pretending you’re anything but a dreamer. I’ve been searching for a rare breed like you for too long not to know when I’ve found it.”

Ronan didn’t say anything, feeling the panic rise in his throat and freeze his voice. He had been discovered, just like his father warned against, and now there were men with guns pointing at him, and Adam was kneeling on the ground with a gun at his head like an execution, and all the while Mathias was watching him, brown eyes sharp and unforgiving.

Finally, after what felt like a horribly long time, Ronan managed to say again, “What do you want?”

He had been going for an even tone, but it sounded defeated.

“It’s quite simple, Mr. Lynch,” Mathias said. “The way I see it, you have two options. Option one: you come with us quietly, we head over to my office, and you and I talk about what I’d like you to create for me. That’s the option I’d prefer.”

Ronan took a shallow breath, hating how anxiety was constricting his heart. “And option two?” he asked, barely hearing himself.

“Option two,” Mathias said, his smile suddenly shark-like. “You fight back. I’m forced to waste time defeating you. And we still wind up doing all of the things I mentioned in option one, but before we leave here, I spray your boyfriend’s brains across the kitchen table. And then maybe we go visit your psychic friends and pick up your daughter. I’ve never seen a little girl with hooves, I’ll admit I’m quite curious.”

It was an efficient trap. It was a choice without a choice.

Ronan looked down, unsure if he wanted to scream or cry under the sheer force of panic and terror and horror, but there was no way out.

He forced himself to look at Adam.

Adam stared back at him, jaw set and eyes dark, fear turning his expressions into stone. He had clenched his hands into fists to stop them shaking.

Finally, Ronan sighed, soft and bitter. He said, “Can I put on a fucking shirt first?”

 

 

 

-

 

 

There were two cars waiting outside, both black sedans. Mathias went to one and opened the back door, clearly intending for Ronan to get in. Two of the men followed, but the others went to the rear car, dragging Adam with them.

“Hey, no—!” Ronan said, freezing. He watched as one of the men shoved Adam in the backseat, and then climbed in after him. He snarled at Mathias, “Why are you taking him? He’s not involved in this, let him go!”

“Oh, that was never the deal, Mr. Lynch,” Mathias said. His endlessly patient tone grated on Ronan’s nerves. “He’s coming too.”

“Fucking _why_?” Ronan snapped. He wanted to start punching them again, starting with Mathias, but held fast. Adam was trapped with two of them. 

Mathias allowed a smirk to appear from behind his cool mask.

“Motivation,” he said. He gestured to the back seat again, “Do get in, Mr. Lynch. I’m not a fan of waiting.”

 

 

-

 

 

They drove for over an hour, bypassing Henrietta entirely and weaving through dense countryside. They wound up at a small block of old buildings nestled nearly a mile off the main road.

One of the men pulled Ronan out of the backseat, giving him no time to adjust before ushering him toward the nearest building. The second car parked two buildings down, and Ronan craned his neck trying to get a glimpse of Adam.

He was steered into a building before he could see anything. The two men accompanying Mathias didn’t waste time, bringing him up two flights of stairs and depositing him in a dim room.

It wasn’t much to look at. A twin bed was shoved into the corner, set up on a wire frame with wheels. There was a folding table with two metal chairs positioned under the single window, and Ronan could see a bare toilet through an open door on the far wall. It was an old building, made clear by the metal radiator gathering dust in the corner. A square box fan was propped up in the corner, creating a light breeze of warm air. _A tidy prison_ , Ronan thought, rage simmering just beneath his skin.

Once inside the room, the two men positioned themselves on either side of the door. They both appeared cut from the same cloth, with cropped military haircuts and broad shoulders. The man who pulled him out of the car was the same one who had landed the punch to his stomach, so Ronan figured he’d call that one Fuckface. The second grunt was shorter and didn’t look too bright, so Ronan opted for Dipshit.

While Fuckface and Dipshit waited by the open door, Ronan sat down on one of the metal chairs. The window faced the wall of the adjacent building and the frame was painted over, so it wasn’t like he could try to launch an escape. He wouldn’t even if he could. He had no idea where they took Adam. 

He sat, chewing nervously on his leather wrist bands and restlessly shifting his bare feet on the concrete floor. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming in the dusty warmth of the building, solidifying how trapped he was. No one knew where he was. Even if he could figure out a way to evade the guards, he would still need to find Adam and find a way to hike back to civilization without discovery. It felt like an impossible task.

Ronan had no idea what to do.

After an anxious five minutes, Mathias finally came up to the room. He stepped in and surveyed Ronan for a moment in silence, brown eyes examining him like he was an elaborate puzzle.

“What?” Ronan snapped after a minute of attention, temper even shorter in light of the situation. Mathias raised his eyebrows, like Ronan was being a petulant child, and Ronan sneered at him. “Just say whatever the fuck you’re going to say, asshole, it’s not like I have a choice but to listen here.”

“No, but you have a choice to be polite,” Mathias chided, in an amused, parental way.

“Yeah, and I’m fucking choosing not to be. What. Do. You. Want.” 

“Like I said back at your house, Ronan,” Mathias began, stepping forward and sitting in the folding chair across from him. “A business transaction. Specifically, I would like for you to dream things for me.” 

Ronan stared at him darkly. Finally, he just repeated, “Things.” 

“Yes,” Mathias confirmed. “I don’t need to get into specifics right now. First, I want to test your abilities. I’d like a flower.” 

Ronan blinked. “What?” 

“A flower,” Mathias repeated. “One of an unusual color, I think. Not something you’d find in nature. Do you think that will be manageable?”

“You can buy blue fucking roses at the store,” Ronan said.

“Yes, and right now I’m asking for one from you,” Mathias returned smoothly, not beset by Ronan’s attitude. “So how about it?” 

He spoke like it was all reasonable and nice, but Ronan had been kidnapped to this musty room in the middle of nowhere, so he knew this wasn’t going to lead anywhere good. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Mathias would keep his requests to weird-colored roses.

But he didn’t want to push him. Not so soon after Mathias had threatened to murder Adam in their kitchen, the gun literally against Adam’s head.

So instead he sighed and said, “I can’t just pull it out of nowhere. I have to sleep. And I just woke up like two hours ago.”

“I figured that might be a problem,” Mathias replied. He pulled out a clear glass bottle with a black top and set it on the table. “Which is why I came prepared.”

Ronan stared at the bottle. It was full of very familiar-looking green pills.

“What the fuck,” he said. The pills seemed incongruent with the situation he was in, like a relic from a past life. He could practically see Kavinsky leaning over and dropping them in his hands, a reckless, crazy smile on his face. “How’d you get these?”

Mathias raised an eyebrow knowingly, like he’d expected Ronan to say such a thing, and said, “The abbreviated story is that I used to work with Richard Kavinsky and, on occasion, Joseph Kavinsky – who I believe you knew. The lengthy story is a bit more involved, of course.”

“So fucking enlighten me,” Ronan snapped.

There was a pause as Mathias sat back, eyeing Ronan with cool if disdainful eyes. Ronan could tell his rudeness was starting to bug him, even if his expression remained impassive. He’d been through too many classes with too many refined Aglionby teachers to not know how it felt to be silently hated.

Despite the simmering irritation in his eyes, Mathias’ voice stayed calm as he said, “I worked with Richard Kavinsky, in a manner of speaking. Close enough that I noticed a unique talent of his. Like you, he was a dreamer. Of course, he was also a fall-down drunk and a heroin addict, so his abilities were wasted, but his son apparently inherited the same gift. 

“Joseph had more ambition than his old man, if many of the same vices,” Mathias continued, leaning his elbows on the rickety table. “He helped create drugs for me to market. I had hoped I could just keep him. He was talented enough to be useful, even if he was fundamentally uncontrollable. Of course, I couldn’t have done something like this—” he said, gesturing to the room around them— “with Joseph. His father was a lush, but his family still held enough sway in the mob to hold me off.”

“So what, your free drug manufacturer kills himself and you go after the other dreamer he told you about?” Ronan asked, feeling a surge of fresh anger, this time directed at Kavinsky.

“Actually, no,” Mathias said. “Joseph didn’t tell me anything about you. But I’ve been around for a while and I know a lot of people. More specifically, I knew Colin Greenmantle. I went to his funeral. A few people there kept talking about how some business he had with Niall Lynch. Apparently, Niall Lynch was rumored to have a device that could pull objects from dreams.

“Now,” continued Mathias, smiling. “You and I both know there’s no device. And I figured if Richard Kavinsky could pass his gift on to Joseph, it stands to reason that Niall could do the same for his son.”

“I’m not Joseph Kavinsky,” Ronan said. “I don’t want to run your drug empire with you.”

“Well, lucky for you, that’s not what I’m asking you to do,” Mathias said. He stood up, apparently deciding that their conversation was over. “In fact, specifically, all I want from you right now is a strangely-colored flower.”

He plucked out one of the pills from the bottle and placed it delicately on the folding table.

“I’ll be back this evening, Ronan,” Mathias said. “And I’ll be expecting my flower.”

 

 

-

 

 

Ronan stared at the green pill on the table for the rest of the morning.

Fuckface was on watch just outside the door. It was left open, which Ronan at first thought was a mistake and then realized was just practicality. The doors didn’t have viewing windows or bars or anything. Ronan was pretty sure it used to be an old manufacturing building. It wasn’t designed to be a prison.

Luckily, Fuckface didn’t seem to be interested in talking to Ronan. If he thought anything about the whole situation, he kept it locked up tight beneath his rocky face and thousand-yard stare.

It left Ronan alone with his thoughts, for better or worse.

He spent most of the morning furiously working out his frustration and rage, slamming the chairs around and the throwing the folding table to the ground. It had no effect. The bathroom had a half-roll of toilet paper and a bar of soap, neither of which things Ronan wanted to destroy, so he left them alone. The bed had a sheet, a blanket, and a pillow, and he threw those across the room too. 

Fuckface didn’t move from the door. Ronan contemplated trying to fight past him, but he didn’t know where Dipshit or the other guards were.

Ronan wondered if Adam was being kept in a room like this.

His heart panged at the thought of Adam, at the memory of him kneeling on the kitchen floor, pale and shaking. He looked at the little green pill.

If Ronan didn’t get Mathias his fucking flower, he had no idea what the man would do. At best, he’d get mad and maybe have Fuckface rough Ronan up a bit. Ronan could take that.

But Ronan darkly suspected Mathias wouldn’t bother messing with Ronan. He’d taken Adam for a reason. He’d made it perfectly clear he had no qualms about hurting or killing Adam. Adam was _motivation_. He was the lever with which to pin Ronan in place.

Ronan stared at the green pill as the image of Adam on the kitchen floor played over and over again in his mind.

With a furious growl, he snatched up the pill and went over to sit on the bare mattress. Thoughts on Adam, he popped the pill and swallowed it dry.

The pill hit like a truck, and Ronan was suddenly tumbling into the lush forest of Cabeswater. Or, more accurately, into Cabeswater Reborn, since the original had sacrificed itself to save Gansey. It had taken a year of gentle prodding and planting, but the bare remnants of Cabeswater had taken root again and formed into a new forest, maintaining the same magical presence it once had. It didn’t feel so old anymore, and it spoke more Latin and English than its old made-up language, given that it was now pulling from Adam and Gansey as well as Ronan for inspiration, but it was Cabeswater nonetheless.

Ronan stared morosely at the beautiful valley in which he stood, stomach sour at his directed goal. A strange-colored flower wouldn’t be difficult, but the idea of it filled him with hate.

He tried to focus on the task, closing his eyes and envisioning a single blue rose. He had a half-developed image in his mind when he found himself distracted by his own worries. What would the others say when they found out he and Adam were missing? They had been planning to go out for lunch with Gansey, Henry, and Blue when they went to pick up Opal. How long would it take them to realize he and Adam weren’t coming?

Ronan shook his head against the endless worries, trying to focus again on creating this stupid fucking flower.

But once thought, the ideas wouldn’t stop. Would they realize Ronan and Adam had been kidnapped? Could they do anything? Henry had his Robobee, but would it work to find them so far away? And even if they did, what could they do against the guards?

What if Mathias already prepared for that? What if he was planning to snatch Opal as Ronan dreamed that afternoon, as a backup plan in case he had to kill Adam? What if he didn’t stop there? What if he kidnapped all of them and lined them up, each one a pressure point on which to press Ronan for favors? “ _If you don’t help me, I’ll stab Gansey. I’ll torture Blue. I’ll—”_

Ronan nearly sobbed in frustration, his anxious thoughts weighing heavily on his mind. He shook his head, clenching his eyes shut, and thought, _flower, flower, FLOWER—_

A sudden weight fell into his hands, and Ronan opened his eyes to see a single, pale blue lily in his hands.

He nearly started laughing. He had poked so much fun at Blue for Gwenillian’s stupid song, periodically sending her blue lilies at work as gifts just to see her get flustered and annoyed. Ronan wrapped his hands desperately around the flower and thought, _please don’t hurt them, please don’t—_  

Then, like flipping a light switch, Ronan woke up.

The perfect blue lily was resting in his hands, clenched atop his chest like a funeral.

 

 

-

 

 

Ronan waited for the rest of the afternoon, bored out of his mind and anxious in equal measure. His stomach started gnawing at him sometime in the early afternoon and didn’t abate, leaving Ronan lethargic with a pounding headache.

Just as it began to get dark outside, Dipshit showed up again. He walked in the room and set a foot-long Subway sandwich and a bottle of water on the table. Ronan eyed it suspiciously for a long moment, but Dipshit and Fuckface didn’t seem to be watching. If it was a trick, he figured they’d at least be paying attention.

So he snatched up the sandwich – some kind of turkey club – and devoured it. He spared a brief thought for pacing himself, but his stomach adamantly refused that plan. Soon, he was left with just a crumpled paper wrapper and half a bottle of water.

He was perched on one of the chairs, sipping idly at his remaining water, when Mathias appeared at the door. Ronan glared at him and didn’t move.

Mathias gave him a little nod, like he was expecting Ronan’s recalcitrance. He walked into the room, followed by the other two guards. They were pulling Adam with them, still barefoot and dressed in the morning’s pajamas like Ronan.

Ronan sat up straighter, eyes latching onto Adam instantly. His cut hadn’t been treated or cleaned, leaving a thin, patchy trail of dried blood running down his face. Despite the injury, Adam didn’t look any worse than Ronan felt, though his face was pale with worry.

Adam stared back, clearly just as concerned about him. The two guards held him between them with a firm grip on his arms, and he seemed frustrated at the restraint.

Ronan wanted nothing more than to talk to Adam right then, or even just hug him or kiss him or something ridiculous and clingy, but the guards stopped Adam just inside the door and didn’t release their grip.

Mathias stood by the table between them, already examining the flower.

“Well, this certainly is lifelike,” he commented. He had broken off a bit of the stem at the bottom. “It’s still moist inside, too. Well done.”

Ronan said nothing. He didn’t want to spare a glance, not when Adam was right there. Adam stared back, a faint line appearing between his eyes as he pieced together what had happened.

“But,” Mathias said, and at this Ronan looked at him, suddenly wary, “I do believe I said I wanted an unnaturally-colored flower, did I not?”

Ronan felt his stomach start to drop out, recognizing the smug tone from endless years of teachers trying to catch him out for daydreaming in class. Immediately, he snapped, “It’s fucking blue, just like you wanted!”

“Yes, I can see that,” Mathias said. He had a wry smile playing on his lips that Ronan wanted to punch. “But I asked for a blue _rose_ , which would have been unnatural. This is a blue lily. I could grow this myself. How is this dream-worthy?”

“You wanted a blue flower, I gave you a damned blue flower!” Ronan protested.

“No, I wanted a strangely-colored flower, and you gave me an ordinary one,” Mathias corrected. His gaze sharpened on Ronan, like a fox maneuvering on a hen house. “I think we need to have a lesson on obeying instructions.”

On some unsaid cue, the two guards holding Adam pulled him forward and forced him to bend over the table. One of the men twisted Adam’s left arm behind his back and held his head down against the table, while the other forced his right arm forward and pinned it by the wrist.

Adam’s breaths started coming quicker, eyes wide against the metal table, and Ronan jumped up, shouting, “No, wait, what the fuck—”

He was abruptly grabbed; Fuckface and Dipshit had moved behind him without him even noticing, and now held his arms immobile. He struggled anyway, furious, but they were both bigger than him and held him fast. Ronan kept shouting, “I can make you a different flower, _fuck_ , let him go—!”

“I don’t want another flower,” Mathias replied, raising his voice to be heard over Ronan’s shouting. He seemed almost amused by Ronan’s response. “I want you to learn how to listen to instructions.”

With that, he nodded to the guard holding Adam’s wrist.

“No, no, stop—!” Ronan screamed.

The guard grabbed Adam’s pointer finger and snapped it without another word.

Adam jerked, eyes clenched shut, and uttered a muffled cry of pain. His face was still smashed into the table.

Ronan fought against Dipshit and Fuckface, struggling to rip an arm free and punch, scratch, attack, _anything_ , but they held him fast. He finally slumped, furious, and hissed at Mathias, “ _Fuck you_ , you didn’t have to do that— I could have made you another _goddamn flower_ —” 

“I said I did not want another flower,” Mathias repeated, suddenly directly in front of him. He grabbed Ronan’s jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye. Ronan snarled, jerking his head back, but Mathias kept his grip firm. “Now I want something different. Your boyfriend has four remaining fingers on that hand, doesn’t he? I want four dream things: a toy car that flies; a fruit that tastes like a different food; a pen with color-changing ink; and a shell that plays different songs depending on who holds it to his ear.”

Ronan furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate on the random shit Mathias was asking for. It was difficult to focus on anything but Adam’s breathing. 

“Did you get all that, Mr. Lynch?” Mathias asked. Without waiting for an answer, he nodded to the guards holding Adam, and they pulled him up, dragging him back against the wall. At the same time, Fuckface and Dipshit loosened their grip on Ronan, leaving Ronan standing alone and shaking with rage.

Mathias held up a little green pill and set it on the table. 

“I’ll be waiting for my gifts,” he said darkly, watching Ronan like a shark.

 

 

-

 

 

Two hours later, Ronan had four dreamed objects of varying strangeness.

Mathias hummed his approval at the toy car and the shell.

The guards broke two more of Adam’s fingers. 

Ronan wanted to cry and yell and kill every single one of them at the sound of Adam trying to choke down his screams, but Mathias just handed him another pill and said, “Try again.”

 

 

-

 

 

It took him the rest of the night and two more tries to satisfy Mathias.

By the time morning started to change into dawn after the long night, Adam’s right hand was discolored and swollen and useless. The guards dragged him out of the room at Mathias’ order, leaving Ronan slumped against the back wall, head in his hands. 

“I’ll be back tonight,” Mathias said calmly. “And we’ll begin our next task.”

Ronan didn’t look up.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: Kidnapping, Death Threats, Assault, Torture, etc. Yeah, this story is gonna get worse before it gets better :/
> 
> If you like the story so far and/or have any critiques, please let me know in the comments! You can also follow me at panaili.tumblr.com if you're a fan of Tumblr. This story is mostly written, so I hope to update it pretty regularly.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

He slept fitfully all morning, exhausted from dreaming but unable to block the memories of Adam being hurt. They echoed in his mind like the time he found his father’s dead body, playing over and over again on a loop.

His restless anxiety had one benefit. By the time Fuckface brought in lunch – McDonald’s, this time – he had a plan in mind.

It wasn’t a plan to escape. Ronan still couldn’t see any way to manage it, not with the way they were both being guarded. He didn’t want to think about the grim realities of that – the idea that he’d just be trapped here, forever acting as Mathias’ dream generator under threat of Adam’s life – but he couldn’t take that on. Not yet. 

He considered his approach all afternoon. Ronan wasn’t the best with words, not in the same way Gansey could be, but he knew how to negotiate. Niall Lynch had been a good teacher in the ways of fighting with both fists and words.

It was beginning to get dark again when Mathias walked in, carrying a plastic bag. He flicked on the florescent lights and dropped the bag on the table. Noticing Ronan’s glance, he gestured at the bag and said, “It’s toiletries. Tooth brush, towel, and so on. And dinner, so feel free.”

Ronan didn’t move right away, eyeing Mathias from across the room. He was resting against the radiator in the corner, the summer heat rendering it a hunk of useless metal. 

Mathias noted his silence and shrugged, sitting down and digging in the bag for a wrapped sandwich. It was enclosed in plastic rather than paper, like the pre-made sandwiches at gas stations. 

After another minute of waiting, Ronan gave up. He stalked over to the table and sat down across from Mathias. Not sure how to start but unwilling to wait any longer, he opted for something blunt. “I want to see Adam.”

Mathias paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. Swallowing, he said, “You just saw him this morning. Or don’t you remember?” 

“I don’t mean I want to watch while you _torture_ him,” Ronan snapped. “I want to talk to him. Make sure he’s safe. I can’t just see him whenever you decide you need to teach me a fucking lesson or whatever. I need to know he’s okay.” 

“Alright,” Mathias said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “And let’s say I decide to honor your request. What’s in it for me?” 

“Efficiency,” Ronan replied immediately, having spent most of the afternoon entertaining different answers to this very question. 

Mathias tilted his head. “Oh?” 

“Do you think it usually takes me four tries to get random dream bullshit right?” Ronan asked, allowing his normal sneer to retake residence on his face. “I’m not a fucking novice. I know how to build dream crap. But it’s really hard to focus on making shit when I’m too busy worrying about my boyfriend. Your little torture games don’t exactly help.”

“Oh, I think they helped plenty,” Mathias interjected. His face was impassive but his eyes were gloating. Ronan clenched his hands in fists under the table.

“ _But_ ,” Ronan continued, resisting the urge to grit his teeth, “If I could see him every day, _talk_ to him, I wouldn’t be so anxious and worried. I could focus better on the dreams. And you’ll get your – whatever the fuck you want – that much faster.” 

Mathias made a show of slowly nodding as though he was spinning the idea around in his head. After a moment, he countered, “Or I could just keep hurting him until you learn how to focus.” 

Coldly, Ronan replied, “He’s going to run out of bones to break eventually. And then where will you be?” 

Underneath his stony exterior, Ronan felt sick about negotiating like this. Confronting Mathias was a calculated risk, because he honestly had no idea how Mathias would take it. For all Ronan knew, he was setting Adam up to get hurt worse, and the thought terrified him. 

But he had to risk it. He had to make Mathias realize that the carrot could be just as effective as the stick. 

Mathias held his gaze, catching them in a staring contest that Ronan quickly realized he couldn’t win. He had to back out before Mathias thought this was about Ronan challenging him. There was an edge to Mathias’ stare that spoke of dominance. 

He glanced aside, allowing his shoulders to slump and worry to cloud his expression. It wasn’t difficult. He had worry to spare.

“Look,” Ronan said, letting just enough of his genuine fear to creep into his voice to allay any fears of him fighting back. “I just… I want to see him. I need to see him. I get it, you want me to make shit for you and you’ll hurt him if I don’t. Got it. Fucking understood. But I’ll be better at doing that if you let me see him. That way I don’t have to worry so much, and I don’t have to take four tries to make your shit. Win-win.”

He paused for a touch longer before looking back up. Mathias was still watching him, but he seemed to have moved on to careful examination.

Finally, Mathias said, “What were you thinking?” 

“Meals,” Ronan said, trying not to look too elated by this turn of conversation. “I want to eat my meals with him. That way I know he’s eating too.” 

Mathias rolled his eyes. “We’re feeding him.”

“Shockingly, my opinion of your caretaking skills isn’t very high,” Ronan said coldly.

For a moment, Ronan worried that Mathias was going to take his sarcasm poorly, but Mathias just shrugged in acknowledgment. He pursed his lips, considering the proposal, and eventually said, “It won’t be tonight. And the guards will be there for every meal.”

“I kind of assumed that,” Ronan muttered, “seeing as how they haven’t ever fucking left.”

“And,” Mathias emphasized, leaning forward. “I’m holding you to your promise of efficiency. I don’t want to waste my time coaxing your cooperation out of you. If I get even the slightest inkling that you’re slacking, the deal’s off. And I make no promises about his safety.” 

 _No shit_ , Ronan thought but didn’t say. He never thought he’d be able to protect Adam. He couldn’t protect anyone. 

“Deal,” Ronan snapped back, tearing violently into his ham and cheese sandwich. He felt sick, his stomach crawling like he just made a deal with the Devil.

But at least now he could see Adam. 

It was better than nothing.

 

 

-

 

 

After dinner, Mathias asked him to create three unique gemstone necklaces.

Within an hour, Ronan brought back a sapphire choker, an emerald locket, and a string of exquisite shimmering pearls.

Mathias examined them silently, but he was clearly pleased. He pocketed the necklaces and left without another word.

Ronan spent the rest of the night trying to quell the gnawing anxiety in his gut.

 

 

-

 

 

The next morning, two guards arrived at the door bearing a bag of breakfast burritos. Adam stood between them with wary eyes.

The guards dropped the bag on the table and left to stand in the hallway, leaving them by themselves in the room.

Ronan was hugging Adam before he even registered moving, pressing his face into Adam’s neck and trying not to feel too overwhelmed. Adam clung back just as tightly. For a long moment, they stayed just like that, desperately pulling comfort from each other.

Finally, Adam pulled back just enough to look Ronan in the eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Am I—?” Ronan started, incredulous, but then diverted to, “What about _you_? How’s your hand?” He shifted in Adam’s grip, just then noticing that only one of Adam’s arms was holding him back. He cradled the other hand against his side, deep purple and blue bruises scattered across his fingers like paint.

Ronan reached out and gently pulled Adam’s hand toward him, eyes intent on the injury as if the force of his stare could undo it.

“It’s fine,” Adam said, drawing his hand back with a small wince. Ronan recognized his tone from their high school days, when he’d come in with black eyes and bruised ribs and try to brush it off. He narrowed his eyes at Adam, clearly disdainful of Adam’s lying, and Adam winced slightly. “Okay,” he murmured, glancing down at the injury. “It’s not fine. But I’ve had worse.”

“Knowing that you’ve had worse than this isn’t exactly comforting,” Ronan said.

Adam shrugged, still looking down at his discolored and swollen hand. Quietly, he said, “I don’t know how comforting I can be right now.”

Ronan reached out and grabbed Adam’s uninjured hand, pulling it to his lips and drawing closer to Adam. “This is enough. I just wanted to see you and talk to you.”

“Me too,” Adam said, leaning into the intimacy and pressing his forehead gently against Ronan’s. Then, because Adam rarely missed a connection, he said, “How’d you get Mathias to agree to it?” 

Ronan pulled back, feeling ashamed but trying to hide it as a bid to grab one of the breakfast burritos. Not looking at Adam, he said, “I… I told him I’d work with him. For whatever.” 

Adam didn’t say anything, but Ronan could feel his eyes on him. He tore open the wrapper on one of the burritos, scowling and snapping, “It was the only way he’d let me fucking _see_ you, and he was going to keep—” _hurting you_ , Ronan thought but didn’t say, eyes darting to Adam’s limp hand.

“Hey,” Adam said, reaching out and placing his good hand gently on Ronan’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have any choices here. I’d do the same thing if it were you. There’s nothing wrong with trying to keep safe.”

His voice was soft and tinged with slow Henrietta vowels. It sounded the same as when Adam would talk Opal down from a nightmare, too late at night to be concerned about clipping his accent. Ronan felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears and he took a bite of his burrito to hide his reaction. Mouth full, he gestured to the food and said, “You should eat too.”

Adam glanced at the table, as though he had only just noticed the burritos. He pulled the second folding chair around so it was on the same side as Ronan’s and then sat down. He grabbed a burrito and slowly started trying to unwrap it with one hand.

“Here, let me,” Ronan said, setting his own food down. After a swift unwrapping, he handed it over to Adam. He took the chance to examine Adam’s hand more closely, noting the curled claw shape it was warped into. “You need a splint.”

“Probably,” Adam murmured back. He glanced at his hand as well, lips twisting momentarily into a frown. “I doubt they’re planning on helping me get one, though.”

“I can dream one,” Ronan immediately offered.

“Will Mathias let you?”

“He never said I couldn’t dream on my own,” Ronan answered. Then, scowling, he added, “The guards are always watching whenever I wake up, though.”

"So he probably won't let you," Adam interpreted.

"He can go fuck himself."

Adam smiled at the bravado, looking very weary. For a long stretch, they were both quiet, eating their breakfast and leaning on each other, shoulders and thighs pressed flush. Then, quietly, Adam asked, “Do you think the others will be able to find us?”

“Maybe?” Ronan replied. He didn’t feel anymore confident than Adam sounded. “They have Robobee. It might work this far out.” 

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t dream it, did I?” Ronan said. “I don’t know its range or any of the specs. It’s Henry’s stupid toy, not mine.” He shrugged and swallowed the last bite of his burrito before adding, “It did find Gansey, though. So, it’s possible.”

“It was preprogramed to find Gansey,” Adam said, brow furrowing as he considered the logistics. “It was already keeping tabs. If we’re out of range, it wouldn’t be able to pull new tracks from us.”

“I don’t know,” Ronan repeated. He felt like he wanted to be angry, but the most he could muster was frustration.

“What if you dreamed something new?” Adam asked, lowering his voice even further. His eyes darted warily at the open door, but the guards were all eating breakfast as well and weren’t paying them any attention. 

“Like a beacon?” Ronan asked.

“Or something like Robobee, that can sneak out and go find them,” Adam suggested.

Ronan frowned, considering the idea. “It’d be a lot more complicated than a splint, so it might take more time. And I'd have to figure out how to hide it so the guards don't see.” 

“You were able to make that bug to find Gansey quickly enough, and that was when Cabeswater was, y’know. Down for the count.” Adam never liked talking about their experiences with the demon. Ronan couldn’t blame him.

“That was fairly simple, though,” Ronan said. “Just three words: ‘Find-Gansey-Machine.’ Easy. This one would need to find him and broadcast our location. Or provide GPS tracking or some shit. It’d be a lot more complicated.”

“We could work on a plan, then—” Adam started, but cut himself off when he noticed his guards entering the room once more.

“You get 30 minutes,” one of the guards said. He was a hefty guy and had a round face, so Ronan mentally dubbed him Fat Fuck. The one following him was beefy and tall and looked, frankly, like an asshole, so Ronan named him as such.

“Let’s go, kid,” Asshole added on, grabbing Adam’s bad arm. 

Adam winced involuntarily and Ronan snapped, “Fucking watch it, asswipe.” 

Asshole rolled his eyes and Fat Fuck smacked Ronan on the back of the head, forcefully enough that Ronan jerked forward and nearly dropped the remaining bit of his burrito.

“You keep up that fucking lip, we’ll see how many meals you brats get, yeah?” Fat Fuck said. He delivered his threats blandly, like a man used to holding total power over a room. 

“Bye, Ronan,” Adam said, not resisting as they led him out of the room, but staring over his shoulder as long as possible. 

Ronan didn’t say anything, staring back as Adam was forced away. 

He had dreams to consider.

 

 

-

 

 

They brought Adam for lunch as well, but Fuckface leaned against the doorway the entire time, watching them. They ate pizza in silence, though Ronan held Adam’s good hand the entire time. 

After they’d finished and Fat Fuck took Adam away, Ronan figured he’d have the rest of the afternoon to work out the best idea for a dream beacon. Unfortunately, just as he was starting to plan one, Mathias walked in the room. 

Ronan eyed him suspiciously, immediately distrusting the break in pattern.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lynch,” Mathias greeted. He wasn’t carrying anything this time. “I figured I’d stop by before our session this evening to sort out a few ground rules with you.”

His tone was even and pleasant and Ronan hated it immensely. His scowl deepened.

Mathias watched him silently, clearly waiting for an answer. Finally, deciding he’d rather get the conversation over with than fruitlessly try to avoid having it entirely, Ronan grumbled, “Like what?” 

“My expectations,” Mathias replied smoothly, as though there had been no break in conversation. “For instance, regarding your meals with Adam. I will grant you breakfast and lunch, but you will be having dinner with me in order to maximize dreaming time. And of course, I expect you to maintain your side of that agreement as well.”

Ronan said nothing. So far, Mathias wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already suspected. He was honestly surprised he was getting two meals with Adam.

“Furthermore,” Mathias continued, “I expect you to inform me ahead of time if there’s an issue with any of my requests.”

“You mean other than the fact that you’re forcing me to do it?” Ronan muttered.

Mathias smiled tightly. “More along the line of technical difficulties. I don’t want to be surprised by unknown dream magic, and I can assure you, it will not go well for anyone if I am.”

The threat hung casually in the air, but Ronan had been half-terrified for the entire experience so far, so it didn’t do much to shake him. He hesitated for a few moments before saying, “I can’t always control it.”

“Learn how to,” Mathias said, flashing his teeth in a semblance of a smile. His eyes stayed shark-like and cold. 

Ronan didn’t bother deigning to respond to that. 

“Finally—,” Mathias said, unaffected, “For right now, at least – I don’t want you creating any dream objects unless I specifically request it.”

His stomach dropped. Ronan managed to keep his face arranged in its normal scowl despite his mind racing. Did Mathias know about the plan he and Adam had started? It didn’t seem plausible that he’d already pinged on it, but everything seemed suspicious in this place.

Still, Ronan knew he couldn’t show how alarmed the new rule made him. Ronan managed to keep his evidence of nerves limited to a slight widening of his eyes, which he quickly covered up by saying, “I just _told_ you, I can’t always control it. Sometimes I just wake up with shit.”

“Well,” Mathias said, “I suppose you’ll have plenty of motivation to curb that habit, then, won’t you?”

Ronan didn’t bother to respond, maintaining his glower.

“Besides, I wouldn’t want you and Adam to get any ideas about creating some kind of dream object to summon help,” Mathias continued. Ronan’s eyes went wide again, before he could stop himself, and Mathias smiled like the cat that caught the canary. “Oh, you didn’t think I was leaving this room completely unbugged, did you?”

“You’re listening to us?” Ronan snapped. He looked around the room but couldn’t see any obvious listening devices.

“Are you honestly surprised?” Mathias asked. His tone was judgmental and Ronan felt his hackles rise at the sneer in his voice alone. “I have guards watching you 24/7 and brought you out here to keep you isolated. Frankly, a little audio observation should not be a shock.”

“It pisses me off, that’s all,” Ronan snapped, hating the feeling of being caught off-guard. 

“Oh, I understand,” Mathias said, leaning onto his elbows on the table. “I was a little annoyed too, when I saw that the very first thing you did with my favor was try to back out of our deal.” 

The sudden sharpness of Mathias’ tone triggered a shot of fear down Ronan’s spine. A memory of Adam’s broken hand flashed in his mind, and Ronan scrambled to twist the story in a way that wouldn’t result in more torture. “I was just talking about giving him a splint, his hand is all fucked up—”

“Yes, which was entirely the point, if you recall,” Mathias said, sitting back in his chair and regarding Ronan like he was a disobedient child. “Besides, you and I both know that’s not what I was referring to. Can’t say I’m too surprised, though. Your boyfriend’s smart. Full ride at MIT, right? That’s impressive. And you might not have your high school diploma, but that’s not due to lack of ability, is it, Mr. Lynch?” 

Ronan hadn’t ever felt quite so much like a rat in a lab. Mathias’ expression was that of a scientist examining his subject, cold and calculating.

“So,” Mathias continued, laughing in a way that did nothing to warm the room, “Like I said, I expected you to think of something. I had hoped you’d make it a little harder for me to figure out, but oh well. Not everyone’s born for secrecy, I suppose.” 

The condescending tone made Ronan clench his fists against his thighs, lest he punch Mathias and make the situation worse. But he was picturing it with burning clarity.

It took him a few moments, but soon Ronan realized that Mathias was waiting for a response. Unable to think past his intense longing for violence, Ronan just managed to mutter, “He needs a splint. That wasn’t a plot for anything.” 

The lie fell flat in delivery, and Mathias raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Tell you what,” Mathias sneered. “If you impress me tonight, I bring him some popsicle sticks and tape and tell him to run wild.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

After Mathias left, Ronan spent a good hour tearing through the room to try and find the hidden listening device.

Fuckface wandered into the room while Ronan was standing on the chair trying to see into the plastic sheeting covering the florescent lights. The ceiling was too high for him to see clearly, even at his height.

“What are you doing?” Fuckface asked, sounding like a human rather than a walking G.I. Joe doll for the first time.

“Trying to figure out the best way to hang myself,” Ronan snapped back, not bothering to curb his sarcasm. 

Fuckface just looked at him, nonplussed, before shrugging and turning away. It probably would have been a more convincing threat if he had a rope.

Ronan searched for an extra hour after that and still found nothing. 

He did break the fan when he kicked it, though.

Small victories.

 

 

-

 

 

That evening, Mathias requested that Ronan bring back a houseplant.

When he didn’t elaborate, Ronan rolled his eyes and snapped, “What, no weird colors? Don’t you want it to grow gumballs or some other kind of dream shit?”

“I just want it to be alive,” Mathias answered, pulling out his phone like a bored kid in detention. He glanced up and eyed the green pill in front of Ronan significantly, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _Well?_

Ronan bared his teeth at him. The late afternoon air was smothering in the room now that the fan was broken, and Ronan would rather do anything but dream up stupid shit for his captor, but he snatched up the pill anyway. He went over to the bed and lay down in it, swallowing the pill down dry. 

Moments later he rocketed into Cabeswater, tumbling into a kneeling crouch in a lush meadow. He looked around cautiously, just in case Cabeswater was put out about being so abruptly invaded, but everything seemed calm. Ronan stood up and looked around at the forest of trees surrounding him, all fresh and green and free. His heart panged to curl up in the soft grass and forget the nightmare he was living.

“What are you looking for, Kerah?”

Ronan whipped around, staring across the clearing.

Orphan Girl looked back at him.

It wasn’t Opal. She was too young, wearing the same dirty sweater and skull cap that she had for so many years in his other dreams. Opal had grown a foot taller and taken to wearing her hair in messy French braids, a skill learned from too many days playing at 300 Fox Way. This girl was staring at Ronan like she’d never seen outside the dream world.

“What are you doing here?” Ronan asked. It was a fair question, given that he hadn’t seen Orphan Girl since he’d pulled Opal out. Still, he made his way over to her quickly, kneeling down and giving her a hug. Unlike Opal, she didn’t hug back, but Ronan could feel her pat him awkwardly on his back nonetheless.

“Helping you,” Orphan Girl replied, slightly muffled by Ronan’s shirt. “Why are you worried?”

“Some jackass is making me dream things,” Ronan answered, pulling away from the hug and sitting back on his heels. “I don’t know how I’m going to get us out of there.”

“If you dream him things, will he go away?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Orphan Girl looked down, frowning. She looked like Opal when she was focused on homework and trying to work through a difficult math problem. Ronan’s heart hurt with worry and longing, knowing that Opal was probably worried sick about him and Adam by this point. It had been two days since they were abducted. He knew Gansey and Blue and Henry would watch out for her, but that wouldn’t stop her from being afraid.

“Why are you helping him?” Orphan Girl asked. She seemed to grow even younger as she asked, and Ronan thought it was just a trick of the mind before he realized that she really was getting smaller. He didn’t want to think about why that might be. She had always been the same age before, but he’d pulled out Opal since then. Maybe he couldn’t hold her image as firmly anymore. 

Quietly, Ronan replied, “He’s going to hurt Adam if I don’t.”

Orphan Girl blinked, brow furrowing in concern. Ronan could tell that she wasn’t actively aware of Adam like Opal was, but she could read the worry strumming through Ronan’s entire posture. She laid a hand on his arm, murmuring, “He’s stealing.” 

“Worse,” Ronan said. “He’s making me do it.” Ruefully, he added, “Still willing to help me?”

“ _Tu es Greywaren_ ,” she said in response, sounding almost wistful. Then, tone growing even, she added, “Stupid.”

Orphan Girl stayed with Ronan while he willed a generic potted plant into existence, holding his hand. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much help, and he probably could have whipped up something by himself in a similar amount of time. But her presence was calming and comforting after two days that were anything but, and for a moment Ronan was almost able to forget the reality that waited for him.

Once Ronan successfully created the world’s most boring dream plant, Orphan Girl squeezed his hand one last time and disappeared back into the forest. However, just before he woke, a glimmer of movement near the trees caught Ronan’s eye. Out of nowhere, Ronan saw Adam, eyes focused and staring at him in concentration. They made eye contact for a mere second before the image flickered out again, leaving Ronan alone again before he woke up.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Reference to assault, threats of violence, swearing.
> 
> Many thanks to @Maliciousways again for betaing this chapter and making it awesome :)
> 
> ** Also, many thanks to HJ90 for pointing out an inconsistency with this chapter. I edited one of the lines to reflect the level of security Mathias has on Ronan, which was rather vague in my original post. Thanks again! I appreciate any feedback to try and make this story better.**
> 
> According to Google Translate, the Latin in this chapter translates to "You are the Greywaren." If that's incorrect, well, my high school was not Aglionby and we did not have Latin, so let's pretend that's correct anyway. :P
> 
> Not as much of an action-packed chapter this time, but I hope you all liked it! Please send your feedback in comments :) As before, if you want to hang out on Tumblr, my name there is also panaili.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

Ronan managed to sleep after Mathias left, albeit fitfully. He woke up with a start, sitting up in the bed with vague dark images swimming behind his eyes. The sky outside was still dark, though the florescent lights in the room glared with their normal brightness.

He was shaking. He couldn’t remember the nightmare, but the lingering feeling sent chills down his spine. 

Dipshit was staring at him when he woke up, looking bored as he leaned over the bed. “Open your hands,” he instructed.

Ronan glared up at him. 

“Come on, kid, you know the drill,” Dipshit said, rolling his eyes. He rested a hand on the gun belted to his waist. “I’m gonna check anytime you sleep.” 

Expression unchanging, Ronan held up his bare palms. He waited a second before flipping them around to hold up the middle fingers on each hand instead. 

“Cute,” Dipshit muttered before reclaiming his position by the door. 

Ronan sighed heavily and lay back down on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. He tried thinking of ways to hide his dreamt objects before they could be spotted, but he’d never had control over how he pulled them out. Whenever Ronan dragged his dreams to light, they appeared without thought in his hands while he was frozen in waking sleep. He wondered if he could dream a beacon small enough to be hidden. Maybe even an invisible version of Robobee.

The pills were throwing him off. He wasn’t even sure if he could dream normally now, not with the drugs throwing off his system so much. All his trips with Kavinsky were like a fever dream in his memory. Ronan knew he hadn’t even been in Cabeswater for his last dream. The memory of his nightmare flickered uneasily in his mind, nothing but dark clouds and the chatter of beaks. 

It had been awhile since Ronan had heard from a night horror.

Maybe he could bring one of them back.

He imagined his night horrors tearing Mathias apart and chasing down his guards. He could do it. He might even be able to keep the monster from killing him first.

But he had no guarantee that the night horror would win. The guards all had guns and watched him like hawks when he slept. They wouldn’t miss a monster appearing out of thin air. Even if Ronan deliberately created a monster impervious to bullets, he couldn’t be sure it would be able to take out the guards quickly enough. They still had Adam hidden away. For all Ronan knew, the first response to any active resistance from him would be to put a bullet in Adam’s head.

He clenched his teeth, flashing back to Adam on his knees on the kitchen floor. His hands shaking, eyes terrified. It was too easy to imagine him with unseeing eyes, bloody on the ground. Ronan couldn’t let that happen.

He lay on the bed for the rest of the evening, but anxiety kept sleep far away.

 

 

-

 

 

Ronan still hadn’t been able to get back to sleep by the time Adam was brought for breakfast the next morning. 

His hand looked no better. Asshole dropped him off with McDonald’s pancakes and Egg McMuffins, and Ronan grabbed Adam’s food to cut it up for him before Adam could even make a prideful attempt at it.

“Pancakes aren’t that hard to cut,” Adam protested.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem with me doing it for you,” Ronan said. He eyed the bags under Adam’s eyes and frowned. “Are you sleeping?”

“Are you?” Adam asked back, raising an eyebrow. 

“Obviously not, but that’s a completely different issue,” Ronan replied flatly, mirroring Adam’s expression with an added scowl. 

Adam shrugged, looking away and avoiding Ronan’s gaze for a few moments. Then, clearly against his inclination, he replied, “It’s hard to sleep on the floor.”

“They didn’t give you a bed?” Ronan asked, feeling familiar rage bubbling up anew.

“I’m not the dreamer, am I?” Adam asked back, tone weary. He looked up at Ronan, saw the rage in his eyes, and sighed. “It’s not worth it to fight about.” 

“The _fuck_ it isn’t—” Ronan snapped.

Adam cut him off. “No, Ronan, it _isn’t_. It’s just another thing for Mathias to hang over your head. They’re already using me to threaten you; I don’t want to give them more to work with.”

Ronan hissed through his teeth rather than dignify that with a response, cutting violently through the syrup-soaked pancakes. Once he was finished, he shoved the plastic tray over at Adam and rudely snarled, “ _Here_. Have your fucking breakfast.”

Adam stared at Ronan blandly, defaulting to his typical neutral expression. For strangers on the street, the look meant _I’m strange and aloof and untouchable_. For Ronan, it meant _I am judging you right now_.

Ronan glared back and hoped Adam could read his expression just as easily. _You’re worth fighting for and fuck you if you disagree._  

For a few moments, they ate in silence, but after a few bites Adam set his fork down. He pulled his injured hand from its resting place on his lap and rubbed it lightly, wincing at the pain. Without looking at Ronan, he said, “I take it Mathias didn’t agree on the splint idea?”

Adam calling attention to his injuries was probably as good a victory as Ronan was going to get. He glared down at his pancakes and replied, “He’s bugging the room.”

“Oh,” Adam said, the word barely an intake of air. Ronan glanced up at him to see his brow knitted in familiar concentration. “So—”

“No dream objects unless he requests them,” Ronan finished for him. “And he made it pretty clear that there wasn’t going to be any leeway for ‘mistakes’. So, that fucks up that idea.” 

Adam was silent for a long moment. It was clear from the crestfallen slump of his shoulders that he was disappointed Mathias had clued into their initial rescue attempt, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. Finally, as he picked at his Egg McMuffin, Adam huffed a small, bitter laugh and admitted, “ _Damn_. I really do need a splint. My fingers are going to heal terribly.” 

Ronan shrugged. He held up the plastic fork and knife he had used on the pancakes. “Any chance we could make a shitty stand-in?”

It took the remaining fifteen minutes for Ronan to make four workable splints for Adam’s broken fingers from the plastic ware and strips of cloth torn from pajama bottoms. The hardest part was cutting the strips with nothing but a plastic butter knife to work with, but Adam’s pants were thin and frayed already, giving them an easier base to start from. 

By the time Asshole pushed off from the wall to signal an end to their meal, Adam’s fingers were repositioned and braced against the plastic. Adam was clenching his jaw against the pain of his aggravated injury, but at least his fingers looked straight rather than like crooked claws. 

As Asshole approached, Adam placed his good hand on top of Ronan’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. His eyes were steady as he promised, “We’ll figure something out.” 

Ronan didn’t say anything in return, but brought his other hand up to clasp Adam’s hand between his own for the precious few moments he could.

 

 

-

 

 

Though Mathias had taken the boring-ass houseplant the previous night with relatively little fanfare, he arrived that evening with a smile on his face. 

“Well,” he said fondly, pushing aside the remnants of his dinner and placing the plant on the folding table. “According to a botanist friend of mine, this plant is 100%, certifiably alive.” 

Ronan stared at him for a long moment before replying, “No fucking shit, Sherlock.” 

“You can create life,” Mathias concluded. His eyes had a slightly manic look to him, like he was riding the wave of a revelation. It was a testament to his interest that he didn’t even seem to get annoyed by Ronan’s rudeness. 

Ronan swallowed his initial reaction – _and I can taketh life away, wanna try that out next?_ – and willed his face to go carefully blank as he registered the reason behind Mathias’ interest. Had he really not realized that Ronan could create _anything_? It didn’t make sense, not with as much as he knew about Ronan’s life.

Luckily, Mathias seemed more than willing to talk through his thoughts. 

“See, the weird dream monsters, like your daughter – that’s one thing. I can only imagine there’s some kind of energy source involved that animates the creatures. But this!” he exclaimed, gesturing at the plant. “It’s just an ordinary fern. My friend didn’t notice anything strange or different about it at all. And while you may be smart, Mr. Lynch, I highly doubt you have a working knowledge of the genetic makeup of common ferns. Somehow, you created genuine life from nothing more than dreams.”

Though Ronan was inclined to take offense at Mathias’ patronizing tone – he was a farmer, okay, and it was a fucking _fern_ ; it wasn’t rocket science – he found Mathias’ interest was as revealing as it was intense. Ronan suddenly realized two things. For one, he was pretty sure Mathias didn’t know about Matthew. Surely, he would have mentioned him if he knew Matthew was a dream, as creating an entire human life would definitely be a lot more noteworthy an achievement. Ronan hadn’t even realized he was so worried about Matthew’s safety until the fear lifted, leaving his breath slightly less weighted. He knew Mathias could still use Matthew against him, but Matthew was in D.C. with Declan for the summer, far enough away that Ronan wasn’t worried about him accidentally stumbling into the whole mess. 

Secondly, Ronan realized that Mathias didn’t know about the leyline. He didn’t know about Cabeswater. It was likely that Mathias had never really talked to Kavinsky about the technicalities of dreaming, not that Kavinsky would have been forthcoming if he had. He probably thought each dreamer just generated their own dream power or some shit. Why would he care? Even just through their brief interaction, Ronan could tell that Mathias was a man of results rather than theories. 

More importantly, this meant Mathias didn’t know about Adam’s connection to Cabeswater. Ronan knew that Gansey, Blue, and Henry might go to Cabeswater the moment they found out Ronan and Adam were missing, to see if the magic forest could provide answers. But even if they didn’t, Adam could make Cabeswater go to them. It wasn’t as though Cabeswater had any issues reaching beyond its borders to get attention when it wanted. And while Mathias was watching Ronan like a hawk to make sure he didn’t dream up some kind of magic cell phone, it wasn’t likely he was paying even a fraction of that attention to Adam, who he’d only snatched as a hostage.

Ronan’s heart leapt and he had to fight to keep his face impassive.

They might have a way to communicate after all.

Unaware of Ronan’s own revelation, Mathias continued with his commentary. “So, tell me, how do you build up your dreams? Do you just imagine a general idea and your brain does the rest, or is there some kind of system involved? How much detail do you need to go into in order to create a working prototype?” 

“I don’t fucking know,” Ronan replied. Truth be told, he had been giving the dream process more thought as of late, but he sure as hell didn’t feel like talking about it with his kidnapper. “I just dream it.” 

“I’m not asking for peace of mind,” Mathias shot back, his voice clipped. His excitement clearly only tempered his patience so much. “Answer the question.” 

Ronan sighed, rolling his eyes. He scrambled for an explanation that didn’t involve any reference to the leyline or Cabeswater, and settled on something vague. “I need to have an idea of what I’m creating. You can’t ask me to make something I’ve never seen before unless you want me to just make shit up.” 

“You need instructions,” Mathias interpreted. “If you’re building something specific or technical.” 

“I guess,” Ronan said, shrugging. 

“Is that it?”

“I usually need a genuine desire to make whatever it is, but I suppose this little field trip has proven that wrong,” Ronan sneered.

“Interesting,” Mathias murmured, trailing off as he stared at Ronan, gauging how the intricacies of his mind worked. Ronan didn’t bother to prod him for more, choosing to stare up at the mold lining the corners of the room instead. Finally, Mathias said, “In any case, today I want to test your ability to create life again. Dream me a puppy.” 

Ronan stared at him. He repeated, “A puppy?” 

“Precisely.” 

“What, the bodyguards aren’t good enough companionship for you? Are they not house-trained?”

Mathias just gave him a patronizing smile before pulling yet another green pill from the bottle he kept in his jacket pocket. 

“Make it a German Shepard,” Mathias instructed. His lips twisted in a sarcastic smile. “I hear they make good guard dogs.”

 

 

-

 

 

Ronan was starting to get familiar with the feeling of speeding into Cabeswater rather than gently emerging, and he hated it.

He also wasn’t sure exactly what a German Shepard puppy would look like, but he’d seen enough cop movies that he thought he could probably approximate something. Cabeswater would likely make up the difference. As much as he hated to admit it, Ronan was somewhat intrigued by Mathias’ observations. How was he able to generate a perfectly normal fern solely from his dreams? Or actually, no, fuck ferns – how was he able to create _Matthew_ , a full-fledged person?

Sometimes his potential power scared him. 

Right now, that fear was underscored by the fact that he was trapped. He’d been wary enough of Kavinsky’s use of dream magic, but now Kavinsky’s rampant thievery seemed harmless, truly nothing more than the dream Wal-Mart he had championed. 

Mathias clearly had a grander vision for the dreams than Kavinsky ever had, and that thought was terrifying.

Ronan wasn’t sure how long he sat in Cabeswater, just mulling over his revelations, but eventually he managed to get back to the task at hand. He stared into the bare green grass in front of him and tried to imagine a puppy – brown and black coloring, pointed ears, with long-haired fur that puffed up in puppy clouds— 

He was concentrating so intently on his dream that Ronan nearly missed when Adam appeared in front of him. But suddenly a cross-legged Adam was sitting in a patch of empty field, making Ronan jerk back in surprise. The half-formed image of a puppy dissolved into nothing.

“What the fuck?” Ronan asked. Adam was staring very intensely ahead, looking somewhere past Ronan, and for a brief moment he thought that he had accidentally generated a dream Adam instead. But then he saw the scrape on Adam’s temple and the patchwork splint on his fingers, and he knew that he wouldn’t have wanted to recreate the injuries. “Adam? Are you – scrying?”

It took a moment, but Adam’s focus dimmed, and he seemed to settle back more comfortably into the field. Finally, he looked directly at Ronan. Slowly, he said, “Yes…?”

“…do you not know?” 

“It’s hard to hold the connection,” Adam explained. His image flickered a few times, like a light on unsteady power, but he didn’t disappear. “I have to use the overhead light as a focus, which isn’t bright enough to be a good stabilizer. And we’re pretty far off the leyline here.”

“But you can still scry,” Ronan said. He knelt forward and took Adam’s good hand in his. He didn’t want to risk bothering Adam’s injury for the sake of connection, but he wasn’t going to let a chance to touch Adam go by. “That’s fucking perfect,” he said, sincerity softening the curse words. “We don’t even need to create a dream object.” 

After a moment of confusion, Adam quickly pieced together Ronan’s idea. “Do you really think we can get Cabeswater to reach out to them? Sending a message while they’re in Cabeswater is one thing, but I’ve only ever noticed it actively reaching out to you or me.”

“They might go to Cabeswater, you never know. I can write messages on the rocks in case they do, but I can't guarantee they'll see them,” Ronan said. “And Gansey sometimes has weird dreams. He was telling me about it last spring. I think at first he thought they were just memories, but they got more intense after we got Cabeswater to take root again.” 

“So, Cabeswater’s sacrifice pulled Gansey in as well?” Adam asked. Musing on his own question, he said, “…it _would_ explain why he was so antsy to get back to Henrietta after the roadtrip.”

Ronan nodded, adding, “And why Cabeswater is so heavy on the English now. Gansey was always shit at Latin.”

Adam shot him a smirk. “See, you say that, but your grammar is notoriously terrible.” 

“It’s inventive,” Ronan countered. “Language is fluid and all that shit.” The familiarity of the teasing felt like soothing balm on a scorching burn. Here in Cabeswater, the reality of their kidnapping was itself a dream, nothing more than a half-formed memory. If Ronan let himself, he could just forget the ordeal and let Cabeswater comfort him. From Adam’s expression, Ronan could tell he longed to do the same.

But denial was a luxury they couldn’t afford. 

“Do you think you can convince Cabeswater to contact Gansey?” Ronan asked.

“I can try,” Adam replied carefully, brow knitted. “Cabeswater feels really weak out here. It’s like when I’m at school – I can scry, but finding my way back to Cabeswater is tricky. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be able to affect anything for us, but if I could make the message clear enough, it might still be able to affect Gansey.” 

For Ronan, finding the way to Cabeswater was as easy as breathing, but Adam had been tracking Cabeswater’s limitations ever since the magical forest was reborn and he realized that his sacrifice was still intact. Luckily, despite Adam’s initial concern that his education would be badly affected, it seemed that so long as Adam came back home every few months to do maintenance, the forest was pretty good at continuing on. Adam had already done most of the heavy lifting for cleaning up the leyline back with Persephone.

“Could you try it out?” Ronan asked. “Mathias got all twenty questions on me about how dream magic works, which was annoying as fuck except that now I’m pretty sure he has no idea what you can do.” 

_Or what I can do_ , Ronan thought, fear souring a pit in his stomach. The idea of being forced to make living creatures for Mathias sickened him.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I can do out here,” Adam admitted. “In Henrietta, Cabeswater protected me from getting hurt, but…” He trailed off, holding up his injured hand as testament. “It’s not very strong out here. I could kind of feel it trying, but – it feels thin. Like it’s overstretching itself.”

“It might be our only option,” Ronan murmured. The memories of Cabeswater protecting Adam from the gunshot and the falling scaffolding flashed through his mind, and he realized how much he had grown to rely on its supernatural protection of Adam. Throughout their later adventures in high school, his concern over Adam had been offset by the knowledge that he benefitted from Cabeswater’s strength. It was a hard truth to swallow that they could no longer count on that support.

“I’ll do my best,” Adam said, shrugging. He shifted around to sit at Ronan’s side, intertwining their fingers and brushing shoulders. His injured hand sat limply in his lap. Changing the subject, Adam asked, “What does he have you making now?”

“A puppy,” Ronan muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously?” Adam asked. “Why?”

“Fuck if I know,” Ronan answered. “He’s all interested in my ability to create living things.”

Adam gave a slow nod. “Well,” he said, looking apprehensive. “That’s… terrifying.”

“I still don’t know what he wants,” Ronan said, frustration bleeding out into his tone. “He keeps giving me these little ‘tests’, like he wants to see how far he can push it. And so far, it’s all been stupid normal shit, but he’s starting to get impatient, so I know it’s going to change, and— _ugh_ ,” he growled, punching a fist into the ground. “I feel like I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

Shifting closer to Ronan, Adam wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Ronan shifted more solidly into his side, drawing comfort from the familiar embrace. Adam said, “The anticipation sucks. But you can’t get caught up in it.”

“How the fuck am I not supposed to be caught up in it?” Ronan asked. His words felt angry but came out sounding more exhausted than anything else. “He keeps asking me to create random bullshit for him and all I can think is, where is this leading? What does he want? And I can’t fuck it up or he’s going to hurt you again – he’s made that more than clear. And I just – I can’t watch that, Adam. I can’t let him do that.” 

Ronan could feel tears burning behind his eyes, and he looked up at the clear blue sky to dissuade them.

Beside him, Adam was quiet for a long moment. Then, speaking softly, he said, “I don’t know how to fix it. This whole thing is terrible. And hopefully we can find a way to get rescued, but – in the meantime – maybe we should just focus on getting through each day.”

Ronan turned his gaze toward Adam, who was staring back at him with worried eyes, looking as desperate and scared as Ronan felt. There was comfort in their shared fear, for all that it was petrifying, and before he knew it, Ronan leaned in to kiss Adam softly.

He wasn’t sure if he meant to say _I’m sorry you’re here_ or _thank you for being here_ or some strange, contradictory mix of both, but by Adam’s returning kiss Ronan was fairly sure he felt the same. 

After a few moments, Ronan pulled back, resting his forehead briefly against Adam’s before turning to face the empty field again. Sighing, he said, “I should probably make this stupid puppy.” 

“You should try to make it prone to peeing on suits,” Adam suggested. 

Ronan barked a laugh, already focusing his mind on the image of a puppy. Like with Orphan Girl, Adam’s presence made his concentration sharper, as though Cabeswater was wrapping them both up in a focal point of contentment. Within the next half hour, Ronan held a fully-formed, squirming puppy in his arms.

“Oh, fuck,” he swore, trying to lean away as the puppy tried to attack his face with vigorous face licks. “ _Jesus_ , this thing is hyper, what the fuck.”

“Have you ever _met_ a puppy before?” Adam asked. He was smirking a bit, but made no effort to relieve Ronan of his burden. In response to the cheek, Ronan shoved the wriggling mass at Adam instead. Adam leaned back and let the puppy lick and nibble at his good hand, but very clearly did not reach for it. “No way, that’s your fluffy monster. You’re the Greywaren.”

“Traitor,” Ronan muttered, pulling the puppy back. He was rewarded with more licks and cold nose pressed into his neck. Despite trying to manage the puppy’s overwhelming energy, Ronan found himself smiling. He pulled the puppy back and stared at his distinct coloring, an all-black muzzle with tufts of tan fur forming sharp, angry-looking markings around his eyes. He smirked over at Adam. “I’m gonna call him Machete.”

“Of course you are,” Adam said, rolling his eyes, and for a brief moment between Adam’s laughter and the puppy’s wet kisses, Ronan felt light and warm again.

 

 

-

 

 

Ronan woke up slowly, limbs frozen in waking sleep, and felt the puppy dance around on top of him. Machete barked in tiny, high-pitched yips, and Ronan opened his eyes to see Mathias staring down at him, standing disdainfully out of reach of the exited animal. 

The remaining warmth from Cabeswater drained away at the sight of Mathias’ cold eyes. As Ronan regained the feeling in his arms and legs, he forced himself to sit up, holding Machete to his chest and glaring darkly back at Mathias. Machete’s tail whipped across his arm as it wagged. 

“Hm,” Mathias said. “Excellent.” 

Without saying another word, he turned and walked toward the door. Following his path, Ronan saw a pile of newspaper and two bowls on the ground in the corner, but just as he realized their purpose, Ronan heard the door to the room slam shut for the first time since he’d been brought there. He jerked his head toward the entryway. Dipshit was sitting on a chair inside the room now, watching Ronan with a strange mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“Wait, what the—” Ronan said, arms still full of squirming puppy. He stared at the closed wooden door in confusion. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with him?”

No response was forthcoming, but he was pretty sure he heard the beginning of muffled laughter.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Kidnapping, hostage situations, kidnapping-related anxiety, swearing
> 
> A surprisingly upbeat chapter for this story. Enjoy the puppy fluff. It gets darker from here. :P
> 
> As always, 1000x thanks to @Maliciousways for making this chapter better than it was before she saw it. <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! I really appreciate any feedback I get, whether it's a critique or a compliment or even just stopping by to say hi. :) I hope this chapter was suitably engaging!


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

Machete was sleeping in Ronan’s lap when Fat Fuck brought Adam in the next morning, but he woke up between breaths and instantly transformed into a wiggling ball of excitement. Ronan had to hold him on his lap to keep him from jumping off to greet the new arrivals.

“Why do you—?” Adam began, clearly curious why Machete was still there, but he caught himself midway through. “—have a dog?” Adam finished, only a little awkwardly. 

He reached an obliging hand out to be sniffed. Fat Fuck practically shoved him inside before slamming the door shut again, his expression making it clear what he thought of dogs. 

“No clue,” Ronan said. “Mathias didn’t bother to keep him. But he’s not that bad. He sleeps a lot, actually. And he’s better company than those fuckheads.” He punctuated his insult with a derisive gesture toward Fuckface, who was still sitting by the closed door. Rather than get annoyed, Fuckface just rolled his eyes and kept reading the newspaper, which was somehow more irritating. 

With careful movements to avoid jarring his injured hand, Adam drew Machete into his lap, where the puppy immediately set to work on sniffing and licking at Adam’s face. Despite the intrusion, Adam smiled down at him, something soft and unguarded. “He’s cute. Kinda weird that Mathias didn’t take him. Maybe he wants to sell pureblood dogs or something?”

“I think he just wanted me to prove I could do it,” Ronan said, shrugging.

“Hm,” Adam murmured in acknowledgement. He was twisting his good arm awkwardly to hold Machete and scratch behind his ears at the same time. “Part of me wants to know why, but all the options that spring to mind are terrifying.” 

“This entire forced vacation is terrifying,” Ronan said, poking through that morning’s takeout bag. It was Taco Bell breakfast burritos again. Deliberately casually, in case Mathias was making a point to review every recording, Ronan asked, “How have you been sleeping? Any weird dreams?”

In the middle of letting Machete down to run around the room, Adam paused and gave Ronan a strange look. It didn’t take long for him to ping on the coded exchange, and he replied, “Not very well. It’s easier when you’re there.” 

Ronan nodded silently. It was an inelegant cipher, and he wasn’t entirely certain if they were both on the same page, but Adam looked regretful and frustrated, so Ronan was pretty sure Adam had meant to say that he hadn’t been able to maintain his connection to Cabeswater. After their first failed plan, however, Ronan didn’t want to risk Mathias discovering this one. 

Instead, he replied, “Well, I’m probably going to be having enough weird dreams for the both of us, then.”

_We can try again tonight_. 

Adam held his gaze and nodded back, jaw set in determination.

 

 

-

 

 

Unfortunately, that evening Ronan finally found out what Mathias was planning. 

Mathias opened the door and made a face at the smell radiating from the paper-lined corner. He cast a judgmental stare over at Ronan. “Were you just going to let the dog shit sit there?” 

“Well, if I cleaned it up, where the fuck would he shit?” Ronan replied in a mocking tone. He didn’t bother to look up, trying to continue his impromptu game of tug-of-war with Machete, but Machete had thoroughly lost interest in the bed blanket now that a new person had arrived. “You gave me one newspaper and no cleaning supplies.” 

“How can you stand the smell?”

“Reminds me of your cologne,” Ronan said. “Very earthy and welcoming.”

“Hm,” Mathias murmured, lip twitching in a familiar sneer as he attempted to disguise his annoyance. Raising his voice, he called, “Aaron? Come in here, please.”

Fuckface leaned his head into the room, having stepped out as soon as Mathias arrived. “Yeah?” 

“Clean up this dog shit and entertain the mutt for a bit, will you?” His tone made it clear that it wasn’t a request.

Fuckface – like hell Ronan was going to be calling him by name; naming things humanized them and _fuck that guy_ – stared for a brief moment, just long enough that Ronan could only assume he was rapidly re-evaluating his current career choice. Despite his hesitation, his face remained rocky and unreadable as he walked over to the impromptu dog outhouse.

“He’s not a mutt,” Ronan said, mostly to see if he could annoy Mathias again. “Purebred German Shepard. Isn’t that what you asked for?” 

Mathias shot him a tight, condescending smile. “Until I see the pedigree papers for his pureblood parents, I’m gonna go with mutt.” 

“I can only assume you’ll want me to dream those up next?” He didn’t care what Mathias wanted next, but day after day of near-solitary confinement made him weirdly desperate for new information. Not to mention, the sooner he got his new assignment, the sooner he could go see Adam in Cabeswater. 

“Not quite,” Mathias said. He waited to sit down until Fuckface left, carrying a yapping Machete in tow. Tossing a Subway sandwich across the table at Ronan, he busied himself searching through his briefcase before locating a packet of papers. He laid them out in front of Ronan. “What do you know about this?”

Ronan took a big bite of his sandwich before deigning to look down, glaring pointedly at Mathias to make his silent resentment clear. Upon examining the front page, he frowned, unease settling in his stomach. “A 9mm Pistol?” 

“Could you make it?” Mathias asked. 

“…probably,” Ronan answered, after a moment of hesitation. “But why would you want me to?” 

“You don’t think there’s a profit in arms dealing?” 

“Yeah, but this is Virginia. We have three gun stores in walking distance of my old high school,” Ronan pointed out. “You could buy a hundred pistols in the time it took me to dream one up.” 

“Yes, but I’d have to pay for those,” Mathias countered. 

“Then why not have me dream up money?” Ronan asked. Part of him wanted to stop giving his kidnapper _advice_ – after all, who gave a shit if he was being stupid? – but he simultaneously hated the idea of wasting his time creating a finicky, technical piece of machinery when creating money would be a simpler solution. “You’d get your guns faster. And they’d even be authentic.” 

“And traceable,” Mathias said, raising an eyebrow pointedly. “But even if they weren’t, money isn’t the point. Anyone can spend money. The power comes in being able to supply what people are demanding. And that, Mr. Lynch, is where you come in.” 

The small trickle of uneasiness bloomed brighter in his gut. Ronan set his sandwich down and examined the packet of papers a little more closely, just in case he was missing something. Finding nothing, he said, “Look, I know that people sell guns across the border or whatever, but there’s no way people are that hard-up for pistols.” 

“Not pistols, no,” Mathias agreed. “Warheads, though. People will pay good money for some WMDs.”

Ronan looked up sharply. “What?”

“Maybe not WMDs quite yet,” Mathias continued, tone smooth and even as though Ronan hadn’t reacted at all. “After all, I still don’t know if you can even recreate a simple pistol. I want the real deal, not any of your made-up bullshit.” 

“You want to sell fucking nuclear bombs?” Ronan asked, barely hearing Mathias’ addendum. “Are you insane?” 

“Hardly,” Mathias replied, though his smile suggested the opposite. 

“Who would even buy them?” 

At this question, Mathias laughed. It was a genuine laugh unlike the standard snide chuckles he’d allowed himself since Ronan had been captured, and Ronan stared at him in confused disbelief as he came back to himself. 

“Really?” Mathias asked, condescending tone back in full. “This is probably why you should have paid attention in high school, Mr. Lynch.” 

Ronan sat back in his chair, snarling openly at him as he felt the weight of the insult. “Well fuck me if I don’t understand your _master plan_ , dipshit, why don’t you explain it to me?” 

It wasn’t like Ronan didn’t have a general idea of who might be _interested_ in owning nuclear weapons. That was a pretty obvious answer. Fascist states, poor countries, terrorist groups – any number of them would probably sell their souls to get more firepower. What Ronan couldn’t wrap his mind around was the idea of them coming to fucking _Mathias_ for said firepower. Mathias was terrifying to Ronan, yeah, but that’s because he had armed guards and was holding Adam hostage. Basic kidnapper shit, not international weapons dealer. 

Despite Ronan’s personal opinions to the contrary, Mathias seemed to have fully embraced the potential of his plan. “It’s simple, Mr. Lynch,” he said. “Between derelict countries and desperate terrorists, there’s a thriving market for high-end weaponry. Unfortunately, certain countries – such as this one – hold the monopoly on some of these weapons. Even if you have the money, the designs are classified and the materials just can’t be found. When it comes to high-grade weapons, the entire market is locked up.” 

“Oh no, what a nightmare,” Ronan replied flatly. “Guess we’ll just have to stay safe from lunatics selling bombs to terrorists.” 

“Safe?” Mathias asked, tone mocking. His derision was clear as he said, “It doesn’t keep anyone safe. It only means that the countries and terrorists who get the bombs are the ones the administration supports. Well. The ones they support at the time, anyway.” 

Ronan stared at him, brow furrowed. He didn’t know enough about international bullshit to measure any fact or fiction to Mathias’ story, but the fanatical gleam in Mathias’ eyes was telling him enough to distrust anything coming out of his mouth. 

“So you want to sell bombs or something?” Ronan finally asked. “Do you have some kind of new world order you’re gunning for?” 

“What?” Mathias asked, sounding genuinely surprised for a second. Then he laughed again, shaking his head. “No, I couldn’t give two shits what they’re used for. I just want in on the market.” 

Ronan couldn’t quite piece together the contradictory statements, but Mathias was certainly giving the overall impression of a fanatic. “But you don’t want money,” Ronan repeated. “So, you just want to control it?” 

Mathias gave a slow grin, serpentine and violent. “Exactly,” he confirmed, “And thanks to you, I have nearly everything I need.” 

“I’m not making you nuclear fucking bombs,” Ronan replied instantly. The entire concept of it was horrifying, the idea that people would die, cities would be leveled, countryside decimated – all because of something he created. Something he brought out of his dreams. Ronan had no idea if he could create a nuclear bomb – no idea if he could even create a technically accurate gun, really, but he’d dreamt a whole working car, so he probably _could_ – but he knew that he could never will himself to pull out of his dreams. Not something like that. It would be a product of his nightmares if nothing else, and those were not things Ronan could control. 

“Oh?” Mathias said. His voice went dangerously flat. “And why not?” 

Ronan scrambled for an answer that wasn’t _because that’s fucking insane, you goddamn sociopath_ , but it took several seconds for him come up with, “I wouldn’t even know _how_ to, for one. I was able to make a car because I actually understand cars – I drive them, I know how they work. And even then, it was only a car that I knew really well. And it took me a few tries.” 

Any hope he had of that argument working to dissuade Mathias was quickly dashed. “I have connections,” Mathias said, waving a dismissive hand. “I can easily get you copies of tech manuals for some higher-end weapons. We’re not going to _start_ with WMDs, of course. That information will come once the buyers know we’re legitimate.”

The casual way Mathias talked about it – like creating and selling bombs and weapons meant for mass slaughter _wasn’t_ horrific, like it was nothing more than setting up a corner office – that was the weight that tilted Ronan’s anger and fear into full on rage. 

“I’m not creating fucking _weapons_ for you,” he snapped, hands clenched in fists on the table. His sandwich sat half-eaten on its wrapper. “No _fucking way_ am I going to be part of this shit. You might not give a fuck about people getting mowed down, but I sure as hell do!” 

When Ronan thought about the inevitable victims of Mathias’ potential arms trades, he couldn’t help but think of his dad, bloody and beaten in the driveway. The memories twisted and churned in his stomach until he felt like he was going to vomit. His mom, mutilated and mangled in the forest. Gansey, still and silent at the side of the road. Blue bleeding. Adam’s broken hands and tear-streaked face. Opal screaming. 

His weapons might not be magic, but his magic would create them. It would be his fault. Bringing hell down on innocent people. He couldn’t do it again. 

Mathias watched him stonily, unaffected by the same inner turmoil that wracked Ronan. His eyes looked dark and deadly.

“Your boyfriend was abused, wasn’t he?” Mathias asked. 

The topic came so far out of nowhere that Ronan actually sat back, thrown from his tumultuous thoughts. 

“What?” he replied. His stomach had turned to ice. 

“I saw the charges when I was doing research,” Mathias said. He maintained his heavy stare as he continued, “I bet he’s pretty accustomed to getting the crap beat out of him, wouldn’t you say? I wonder how long he could take a beating?” 

“Shut up,” Ronan hissed. He could tell with dread exactly where this was going.

“How many bones do you think we could break before he cries?” Mathias asked. His tone was light but his eyes weren’t, staring Ronan down like he knew precisely where to stab the knife. “Do you know if Daddy ever got handsy? Your boyfriend’s pretty, maybe he’s got some scars below the belt—” 

“Shut the _fuck up_.” 

“I could ask the guards to go find out,” Mathias threatened. “I pay them well enough, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind seeing how he looks on his knees—”

With a vicious snarl, Ronan grabbed the only thing in reach – half a leftover sandwich – and pelted it at Mathias’ head. Mathias ducked and scrambled back, but Ronan used the momentum to up-end the table and send it crashing to the floor with the contents of Mathias’ briefcase. He stood in its place, fists clenched and shaking, only just managing to hold himself still. His breath came out in short, heavy bursts. 

Despite being half-covered in sandwich fixings, Mathias maintained his smug expression as he regarded Ronan’s frozen, furious stance. He knew he had won.

“Please keep in mind who holds the cards here, Mr. Lynch,” Mathias cautioned. “We have a simple deal. You create what I ask and no one gets hurt. Any deviation from that, and you’ll find I can be very creative when it comes to getting what I want.”

Ronan said nothing, glaring balefully at him and trying to resist the urge to pummel him right there. He could probably take him out, but the guards would hear. He couldn’t take all of them. And Mathias would take it out on Adam, _again_ , and he’d be right back where he started. Ronan physically shook from the effort it took to stay motionless, but he managed. Barely. 

Mathias leaned down and picked up a single packet of paper, tossing it by Ronan’s feet. It was the tech manual for a 9mm pistol. 

“That’s your assignment for tonight,” Mathias said, producing a green pill from his pocket and dropping it by the packet. “Just focus on that.”

 

 

-

 

 

After appearing in Cabeswater, Ronan spent a long time staring down at the grass with his head in his hands. He couldn’t tell how long he sat there, replaying his conversation with Mathias over and over again in his head, but he kept coming to the same conclusions.

Ronan had spent time studying the stupid fucking tech manual under Mathias’ watchful eye, but as he stared blankly at the meadow around him, he could barely remember the front page. He couldn’t bring himself to make the gun, not when he knew where it was inevitably going to lead, but Adam would get hurt if he didn’t. He needed to make the stupid gun, if only to forestall Mathias long enough for them to get rescued. Unfortunately, every time he tried to focus on creating it, the dreams turned to dust in his hands. It felt like Cabeswater could read his very soul and knew that he didn’t want to make the gun, so the dreams were about as solid as cotton candy. 

He drew his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, resisting the urge to scream in frustration. He couldn’t fake it this time, not like he did with all the other bullshit Mathias asked for, because it was too real now. Everything else – the flying car and the necklaces and even Machete – they were all simple compared to this, because what could Mathias do with any of it?

But now it was a gun.

Mathias could do a lot of harm with that, and he had promised more of the same.

The thought played around in his brain as Ronan tried desperately to recreate the 9mm pistol, but the best he could manage was a shadowy gray cloud before it dissolved like steam. 

Ronan let out an aborted scream, punching the ground in frustration.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

He looked up, startled, and saw Adam kneeling in front of him, his form flickering in and out. Ronan watched the image level out as Adam gained a more solid grasp on his connection to Cabeswater.

“Can you tell when I’m dreaming?” Ronan asked, ignoring Adam’s question.

“It’s guesswork, mostly,” Adam replied. “I know you dream in the evenings, so I check every half-hour or so if I can connect with Cabeswater.” Adam shrugged and added, “It’s not like I have anything else to do.” 

“They’re not bothering you though, right?” Ronan asked. The easy way Mathias had threatened Adam was still burned into his mind and his stomach twisted. “The guards, I mean. They leave you alone?”

His tone was edged with a certain fear he couldn’t obscure with anger. Adam clearly heard it but didn’t react other than to knit his brow, responding with, “They sometimes say stuff, but yeah, they usually just ignore me.” 

“What stuff do they say?”

“I don’t know, stupid stuff?” Adam replied. “Not threats or anything. Just. Petty high school shit. Insults about gay people and whatever.” 

Adam’s dismissive tone helped to calm the worst of his fears, but it wasn’t enough. Not when they were still trapped and he had to create an object he couldn’t fucking create and Adam was constantly alone with two guys who could hurt him. Who _had_ hurt him. Ronan couldn’t help but hear Mathias’ words, promises about his well-paid guards and their proximity to Adam. He hadn’t even thought of all the other ways Mathias could torture them until it was brought up, and the entire concept made him sick.

“It’s mostly the chubby guy, actually,” Adam continued. His voice was starting to go flat and clipped the way it usually did when he was anxious, and Ronan suddenly realized Adam was looking increasingly concerned by Ronan’s silence. “He gets bored and starts saying shit to me sometimes. He did it more at first before he realized I wasn’t going to reply. Like I care what he thinks about gay people.” 

Ronan forced a small grin, trying to joke, “You’re not even fucking gay.”

“Shockingly, I didn’t feel like getting into a discussion about bisexuality with him,” Adam replied, rolling his eyes. Then, softer, he asked, “Seriously, what happened? Did your guards start doing stuff?”

“No, they talk to me even less than you,” Ronan said, feeling raw and exposed under Adam’s stare. He wasn’t going to tell Adam what Mathias said. It was probably a throwaway threat, meant solely to terrify Ronan. If Ronan mentioned it, Adam would just get freaked out, and fuck knows they were both overfull with fear by now. Instead, Ronan said, “I… I found out what Mathias wants.” 

He told Adam all about the tech manuals and the nuclear bombs, trying to summarize Mathias’ end goal with as few flares of anger as possible. 

“He wants to sell bombs to terrorists?” Adam asked. “Is he insane?”

“It doesn’t really fucking matter, does it?” Ronan replied bitterly. He stared down at his hands helplessly. “Either I make the weapons or he hurts you.”

“You can’t do it,” Adam said. Ronan glanced up at him, ready to scowl at any prideful expression of defiance, but Adam just looked defeated and scared. Still, he went on, “Even if he hurts me, Ronan, you – you can’t. He could hurt so many people.”

“I can’t just let him hurt you,” Ronan protested.

“You have to—” Adam began, but Ronan cut him off.

“No, fuck that, don’t throw any of that self-sacrificing bullshit at me, I’m not going to let him hurt you,” Ronan snarled, glaring fiercely at him. Adam stared back, jaw tight and defiant now in light of Ronan’s anger. Before Adam could reply, Ronan said, “Don’t you get it? It won’t stop anything. He’s just going to keep torturing you until he finds something that sticks. And even if he kills you, it won’t matter – he’ll just go grab someone else – Opal, or Gansey, or fucking Blue. You think he gives a fuck? He was going to straight up execute you in the _kitchen_ , Adam. He _doesn’t care_. He just wants me to make him shit, and he’ll burn through anyone he can to make that happen.”

As he yelled, hot tears burned behind his eyes, and finally Ronan broke off just to press his face into his hands, trying to stop the tears from falling by force. His entire body was a single coiled muscle of anger and he felt himself shaking with the effort not to scream or cry or just fucking explode.

After a moment, he felt Adam settle in next to him, extending one arm around his shoulders and holding him tight. Ronan sat in motionless silence for a while, struggling not to sob in frustration, but soon he let himself relax enough to turn into Adam’s side and press his face into Adam’s shoulder. He was crying, hot and silent and unbearable, and Adam ran his uninjured hand along his head and neck in slow strokes. 

Ronan felt like he could wallow in that moment forever, feeling the unending anger circle through him like fire, but eventually his breathing steadied out. He didn’t bother to move away from Adam.

“I’m scared too,” Adam admitted quietly, unprompted. His voice sounded thick. “This entire thing is fucked up.” 

Ronan nodded against Adam’s shoulder, murmuring back, “We have to get out of here.” 

Adam hummed in agreement, but didn’t respond. After a long moment of silence, he said, “You have to create that gun tonight, right?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan muttered. He forced himself to pull back from Adam, rubbing a hand across his face to brush away any errant tears. “If I can get it to fucking work. It’s like pulling teeth. Cabeswater knows I don’t want to do it.”

“Pretty hard to lie to yourself about that one,” Adam acknowledged. There were tear tracks on his cheeks, but he didn’t bother to rub them away. 

“I’ll try,” Ronan said. He sat in silence for a few seconds, contemplating their options, and asked Adam, “Are you going to keep trying to call the others?”

“That’s the plan,” Adam said. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, sad and wistful. He untangled his arm from Ronan’s shoulders and reached down to grab Ronan’s hand with his own. “At least we can help each other.” 

Ronan tightened his grip on their clasped hands like a lifeline.

It was shitty, but it was the best they had.

 

 

-

 

 

It took over an hour.

Ronan honestly felt like Cabeswater had eventually just given up in frustration and generated the first gun-shaped thing it could get a solid hold on. So instead of the specific type of 9mm pistol that Mathias had provided the specs for – the Glock 17 – Ronan looked down at a very obvious Beretta 92. 

He couldn’t explain it. Berettas looked cooler in movies? He honestly had no idea what suddenly made the creation click.

Ronan rolled his eyes, not wanting to question how his dreamscape worked. Fuck it, it was a 9mm pistol. Hopefully Mathias would be happy enough with this – given that it was Ronan’s first try and it took way too long already, Ronan decided he’d just have to go with it. 

“Finally,” Adam commented in mock sarcasm, opening his eyes and peering over at the gun. It was silver with a black plastic inlay on the handle. “I thought you gave up at one point.”

“No, I gave up at _multiple_ points, and still somehow managed to vomit this bullshit out,” Ronan replied. “Fuck this. I should dream up some bullets and shoot all those assholes in the head.”

Adam very carefully kept his expression neutral. After a pause, he quietly asked, “Do you think that would work?” 

Ronan could hear what he didn’t want to say. _Do you think you could kill them? Would you?_ He honestly wasn’t sure. He certainly hated them enough. But there was a big difference between hating someone enough to want them dead and outright killing them. Part of him desperately wanted to believe he could do it, but most of him was just scared that he eventually would. 

In terms of practicality, though, the idea wasn’t the best. “Probably not,” Ronan answered. “I always have that time right after dreaming where I’m kind of frozen, and Mathias waits for me to wake up. If I were him, I’d take the gun immediately, just to avoid that issue. And he’s an asshole, but he’s not stupid.” 

“Shame,” Adam said, though his tone left his conviction a mystery. He was looking at the gun with an unreadable expression, and Ronan imagined he was having a similar moral debate with himself.

Ronan kept turning the gun around in his hands, nearly marveling at its weight. He’d held plenty of guns before, but they’d all been hunting rifles, not sleek side arms, so the best comparison he had to an actual pistol was playing paintball with Gansey and his cousins. Not quite the same.

“Were you able to send a message out?” Ronan asked, changing the subject.

“I think so,” Adam replied. He chewed on his lower lip, looking uncertain. “It’s hard to tell. I’m pretty sure I got through to Cabeswater, but I have no idea if it was able to relay anything to anyone else.”

“Cabeswater doesn’t provide read receipts?” Ronan asked.

“Apparently not,” Adam said. “Your forest sucks, Lynch.” 

“Yeah, sorry, next time I’ll make sure to add in a solid messaging system.”

Adam smiled fondly, pulling his knees up and leaning in to cross his arms over them. He left his injured hand dangling awkwardly, still tied up with scraps of torn fabric and broken pieces of plastic cutlery. His pajama bottoms reflected the sacrifice, one side ending raggedly just below his knee. 

“We should probably stop,” Adam murmured, sounding as though he wished for the opposite. “I don’t know how long I should be maintaining this.” 

Ronan felt a sudden pang of guilt at taking so long. “You’re not stretched too far or anything, are you?” 

“Not really,” Adam replied. “I can still reach back and feel my conscious mind. It just… gets more difficult the longer I’m here. Not like I’m straining, but like I’m dreaming and I don’t want to wake up.” 

“Can’t say I blame you,” Ronan said. Then, taking a long look at the weapon in his hands and sighing deeply, he continued, “But you’re probably right. See you at breakfast?” 

Adam gave a weary, two-fingered salute with his good hand. “See you then.” 

Ronan closed his eyes, the cold gun burning against his hands, and fell back into reality.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Threats of rape, threats of violence, hostage situations
> 
> Now that we know the end game for Mathias' plot, prepare for things to get a bit darker. The stress is clearly getting to both Adam and Ronan, but it's still a long road for both of them. :(
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos on the last chapter! I hope this story is still engaging to everyone. Please feel free to let me know if you liked this chapter or have any thoughts. :) 
> 
> As always, many thanks to @Maliciousways for her awesome beta job, and a shout-out to @Hthar for her assistance as well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read trigger warnings before this chapter.

 

 

 

 

He was right.

Mathias took the gun away as soon as it appeared. 

Ronan couldn’t move, but he could feel the cold metal disappear from beneath his hands. A warm lump by his hip started to shift and moments later Ronan felt a cold nose followed by a rapid series of licks as Machete woke up from his own nap.

He couldn’t move. Mathias was standing above him, marginally less creepy now that he was investigating the gun instead of staring down at him. 

Finally, Ronan felt the feeling start to drift back into his limbs. He shifted and stretched, sitting up and cuddling Machete to his chest in one slow gesture. Exhaustion hung on his limbs like lead, which was fucking annoying given that he felt like he spent more time asleep than awake. 

“That took longer than usual,” Mathias murmured, not looking up from his careful examination. 

“Guns aren’t really my thing,” Ronan muttered back. 

“You can create an entire living creature in less time than it takes to create a single gun?” 

“You wanted something super technical,” Ronan said, sliding easily into anger as he stared up at him. “For all I know, this puppy has three hearts, I didn’t really think about it.”

Mathias smirked at him. “Yet despite your focus on the details, you brought me back a Beretta instead of a Glock.” 

His tone was more amused than insinuating, so Ronan hoped it meant he was pleased with the attempt overall. He stared at him for a few more seconds, expression unchanging, before he rolled his eyes and sniped back, “It’s my first try.” 

“Well, it looks decent,” Mathias said, shrugging. He turned toward the table, which had been settled upright. His briefcase was sitting ordered and opened on top of it. Mathias pulled out a small box of bullets. “But you never know until you do a field test.” 

Mathias popped out the magazine and began to load the bullets, using a practiced grip that spoke of arms training. Ronan watched with only the barest amount of interest until Mathias pulled back the hammer and took aim at the opposing wall. 

Ronan jerked up, pulling Machete tight across his chest, and said, “Wait, are you gonna fucking fire in—?” 

His sentence was cut off with a sharp _bang_ and Machete let out a high, startled bark, shaking and scratching in terror. Ronan held him as firmly as he could, staring in shock at Mathias and trying to calm his own startled reaction. 

“What the _fuck_ , you didn’t have to test that shit in _here_ —” 

“Actually, it seems I did,” Mathias said, staring at the wall. All amusement had left his face. “Mr. Lynch, do you mind explaining what the fuck I’m looking at?” 

Ronan followed his gaze, staring at the opposing wall. Instead of a smoking bullet hole, a splatter of green paint marred the white concrete wall. 

“What the fuck?” Ronan asked, surprised. 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Mathias snarled, wheeling on Ronan with a furious expression. Machete jerked in fear and finally struggled out of Ronan’s grip, dropping to the floor and running to the bathroom with his tail between his legs. Mathias didn’t bat an eye. “Are you trying to play a game with me? Because I can assure you, it won’t work out well for you.” 

“No, _fuck_ , it’s not a—” Ronan said, confused as fuck and scrambling for a decent response. “What the fuck kind of bullets are those?” 

“Regular _fucking_ bullets,” Mathias snapped. His voice had gone icy. “So did you think I wouldn’t notice a magic gun? Turning bullets into paintball pellets, that’s cute, really clever.”

“I wasn’t trying to be smart!” Ronan replied, holding his hands up as though to physically block the verbal attack. He felt confused and overwhelmed and incredibly pissed off that he was getting yelled at for a genuine mistake. “Really, I’m not fucking lying! It’s my first time making a gun, and the only time I’ve ever even fired a pistol it was when I played paintball, so I must’ve—” 

“I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses,” Mathias interrupted. Without another word, he aimed the gun in Ronan’s direction. Before Ronan could do more than widen his eyes, heart rate skyrocketing, Mathias fired. 

A sharp pain burned like fire in his hip and Ronan gasped, clutching his side and curling in on himself. It felt like he had been gut-punched, his breath completely gone, and he gaped as he tried desperately to draw breath. Finally, collapsed into his pillow and coughing as he managed to catch his breath, Ronan drew his hand away, feeling sticky liquid smeared across his fingers. 

It was blue paint. 

Ronan stared at his hand, unable to stop his bewildered reaction. Mathias had relied so much on psychological punishment that this sudden swerve into the physical realm threw Ronan for a loop. It wasn’t even that bad, despite still being a punch to the gut from a meter away. But when Ronan looked up at Mathias and stared into his furious eyes, it was clear that Mathias was not as cool and in control as he usually liked to portray. 

“Don’t you forget for a _second_ who is in charge here,” Mathias hissed, and a part of Ronan that wasn’t still reeling from the shot marveled at how easy it was to make him lash out. Despite his injury, Ronan felt more in control than he had in days. “Now you’re going take another pill and make me a gun that actually _fucking works_ , do I make myself clear?”

Ronan glared back at him, breath still hitching from the pain in his side. He was angry and hurt, but in the back of his mind he held a certain pride at forcing Mathias to snap. Fuck his calm. 

Sneering, Ronan said, “Fucking crystal.”

 

 

-

 

 

Cabeswater was dark and empty when Ronan returned.

The peaceful meadow now felt dim and creepy, sun set in favor of the moon. He wasn’t sure how Cabeswater adjusted its scenery most times, because it didn’t really obey the real world for any of its settings. Maybe his anticipation of Adam urged the sun to rise, and now that Adam was gone, the light had disappeared with him. 

Or maybe Cabeswater just did whatever the fuck it wanted. 

Ronan liked the poetic sound of the sentimental option, but he knew the latter was probably the truth.

He sat alone in the middle of the dark meadow and tried to focus on creating the Glock 17. At first, the sharp pain in his hip distracted him. Mathias’ shot had left a round red welt just above his hipbone and it ached even when Ronan stayed still. 

Eventually, he gave up and concentrated on the pain. He hated having to make the gun in the first place, so why not hate the process too? 

He felt like he was trying to build a sand castle by piling individual grains of sand, each element of the gun a hard-won victory. He maintained his concentration through sheer fury. He refused to let himself think of the pleasant, easy baubles he could create on a whim. Hell, even his nightmares were easier to dream than this stupid gun.

It was all Mathias’ fault. Cabeswater knew Ronan had no choice and it wasn’t willing to allow its Greywaren to be forced into being a thief. But Cabeswater couldn’t understand the full situation. It didn’t see that Ronan and Adam were engaged in a delicate balance of survival. 

Finally, after two hours, Ronan managed to piece together a Glock 17. It sat black and heavy in his hands. He didn’t know if it would fire correctly, but he had already taken too long and Ronan had no desire to fire a gun in the middle of Cabeswater. There had already been too much violence that day. 

Between one thought and the next, Ronan woke up. 

For a few minutes, he felt like he was still dreaming. 

Mathias snatched the gun quickly, as he did earlier, and started inspecting it as Ronan regained the feeling in his arms and legs. 

Ronan sat up and waited as Mathias loaded the magazine with fresh bullets. Machete had come out of the bathroom at some point, but was sitting tensely by the bathroom doorframe, clearly still wary of Mathias. His ears lay flat against his head. 

“You have the right model this time, but you took entirely too long,” Mathias murmured, sliding the magazine into the shaft. It locked in place with a small click. 

“I’ll work on it,” Ronan replied blandly. He didn’t feel like fighting anymore.

“Yes, I’d hope so,” Mathias said. His expression was a blank mask. “But perhaps a little incentive wouldn’t hurt.” 

Then, in one smooth gesture, he turned and aimed the gun at Machete.

He fired. 

Machete jerked, a single high whimper escaping his mouth before he slumped over, a motionless pile of fur. His front paw twitched, but the dark hole in his head and rapidly spreading stain of red made it clear there would be no coming back. 

Ronan couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The entire event had taken less than a second, and now Machete was crumpled dead on the ground. He felt sick, his mouth gaping as he watched the blood pool beneath soft fur.

“Good,” Mathias said. “You made it functioning this time.” 

Ronan could barely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. He was furious and nauseous and horrified, air catching like cement in his chest. Shock left him frozen. 

“I’ll have Aaron and Nate clean that up in the morning,” Mathias went on, like he was discussing a spilled drink. “Your performance tonight doesn’t really live up to our deal, wouldn’t you say? I think you’ll have to survive without your little dates for the day.”

Ronan said nothing, still staring at Machete’s bloody, broken body. 

“Excellent gun, though,” Mathias finished.

He shut the door as he left, its sharp slam echoing like a gunshot in the room.

 

 

-

 

 

There was a smeared stain of blood left on the floor after the guards cleared away Machete’s body. 

Ronan spent most of the day trying not to stare at it.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen an animal die, or even the first time he could name himself to blame. He grew up on a farm. Animals died sometimes, even magical creatures from dreams. They gave birth to real animals, after all. And Ronan had helped his dad kill pigs and chickens for dinner. He knew what it felt like to see an animal die.

He still couldn’t shake the sick twist in his stomach at the memory of Machete’s still body. The sharp whimper. His limp paw. 

His gaze kept returning to the smear of blood. It was all so fucking _pointless_. Mathias hadn’t needed to kill Machete to prove the gun could work; he did it to prove to Ronan how powerless he was. As if Ronan didn’t know. As if Ronan didn’t live with fear lodged in his throat at this point, trapped in a cramped, stuffy room and doomed to live out his days as the captured dreamer of a madman.

He wanted to see Adam and scream out his frustrations into his chest. 

He wanted to keep Adam away from all of it. He’d see the bloodstain and know that the first of Ronan’s dreamt weapons had already taken their first victim. 

Ronan sat in the corner, staring blankly at the shadows as they moved with the sun. No one came in, save for Fuckface sitting silently in the corner. No one brought food. It was probably another one of Mathias’ lessons. _Do what I say and get fed. Do what I say and stay whole. Do what I say and stay living._  

He knew that all of these tests and lessons were probably lifted from bullet-pointed list in _Kidnapping 101_ or some shit. How to break someone’s spirit, how to make them malleable, how to get them to work for you. He’d never felt like reading up on human nature or psychology – hard to maintain interest when people kept trying to diagnose you – but Henry was a fountain of knowledge about the whole genre. He was like Gansey in that way, dealing with trauma by becoming an expert in it. And once Ronan had given in and accepted Henry into their group, he quickly became yet another person in Henry’s collection of sounding boards.

Henry had regaled them with knowledge about the psychology of captivity and the history of human trafficking. He spent a full month reading and evaluating the entire declassified Senate Intelligence Committee Report on Torture. He even made all of them take the Psychopath Test to see which one of them was closest to the mark. (Adam scored the highest, much to his distress, but Henry was second highest and made enough jokes about them becoming a Murder Duo that it turned into a running gag.) 

Henry’s various hobbies ensured that Ronan knew there was a psychology behind Mathias’ methods. It was entirely possible that Mathias was just winging it, but Ronan doubted it. He liked being in control too much. The dead dog, the silence, the withholding of food – Ronan was pretty sure it was deliberate. Breaking Adam’s fingers definitely was. Mathias was operating with a plan. 

Ronan was pretty sure the only thing that hadn’t been planned was shooting Ronan with a paintball pellet. He rubbed lightly over the welt, which had turned dark and swollen as the day went on. Part of him felt victorious at making Mathias lose his cool.

The rest of him kept trying to avoid staring at the smear of blood by the bathroom door.

By the time Mathias arrived that evening, Ronan was thoroughly exhausted. He hadn’t slept or eaten all day, and the sight of Mathias filled him with such a rage that his intermittent nausea returned with a vengeance. His head throbbed in time with his side. 

“Good evening,” Mathias greeted coldly. He hadn’t brought any food, but he tossed a green pill and a bottle of water at Ronan’s feet. “I want you to make me another Glock 17. In under an hour, this time.” 

Ronan glared at him, saying nothing. Fury boiled inside him. 

Mathias stared back blandly. 

The stain on the concrete floor was starkly visible in the corner of his eye. Ronan closed his eyes and reached out blindly for the pill and the water, scowling fiercely. 

As he swallowed it down, Ronan wondered what stage of captivity he was on now.

 

 

-

 

 

Ronan knew Cabeswater was wrong the moment he saw it. 

The wind whipped around him, chilly in the dusky evening light. Shadows danced around him as the tree branches were beaten to and fro by the weather. The lingering sunlight was dimmed by overcast skies.

He looked around for some kind of shelter, any place that he could potentially avoid the elements and concentrate on creating the gun, but the forest wasn’t forthcoming. Ronan couldn’t help the shiver of trepidation that trickled down his spine at the sight of Cabeswater. He recognized this atmosphere. Something was out there. A nightmare. It had been a long time since he’d conjured up night terrors, but he still recognized the ominous harbingers of their presence.

“Kerah,” hissed a high voice. Ronan turned to see Orphan Girl huddled by a tree. “It’s not safe, Kerah. You need to leave.”

“I can’t,” Ronan said. “I have to make— more stupid crap.” 

He couldn’t tell Orphan Girl about the gun. Not with how much she resembled Opal, who had grown taller and bolder but still had the same wide eyes. 

“It knows you don’t want to,” Orphan Girl whispered. “It doesn’t want to either. _Et iratus est_.”

“Well, that’s just perfect,” Ronan muttered, stumbling to the side as a particularly strong gust of wind blew through the meadow. “Doesn’t really help _me_ any, though, so—”

“Ronan?” 

He looked back to the center of the meadow as Adam slowly flickered into view, kneeling as always. It took him longer than normal, and by the time he stabilized his connection, Adam was staring at the surrounding environment in concern. “What’s going on?” 

“Nightmare,” Ronan replied flatly. 

Adam turned his focus to Ronan, a faint crease appearing between his eyes. “You’re getting those again?” 

“Apparently,” said Ronan. 

“You both need to leave,” Orphan Girl repeated.

Adam frowned, just then noticing her crouched in the shadows. Rather than address his confusion, Adam dismissed her presence with a shake of his head, clearly opting to focus on one new thing at a time. “What happened today? Why’s Cabeswater suddenly reacting like this?”

Ronan stared at him for a long moment, fighting the desire to just stay silent. Finally, he said, “Mathias killed Machete.” 

“What?” The word came out like a gasp.

“My gun wasn’t right and I took too long.” Ronan looked away, staring into the ever-darkening forest to avoid Adam’s stricken eyes. “So, he killed him. That’s why they didn’t bring you today. I’m being punished.” 

He heard Adam scramble to his feet moments before a strong hand gripped his shoulder. Clearly at a loss for something to say, Adam quietly murmured, “I’m sorry.” 

Ronan didn’t reply. He could make a thousand quips to mock Adam’s poor attempt at sympathy, each angrier and more sarcastic than the last, but none of them fit. He didn’t feel like lashing out at Adam for his personal rage, not with Cabeswater getting wilder and colder as time went on. 

“I have to make him another gun,” Ronan said, changing the topic and finally turning to look at Adam directly. “But Orphan Girl is right, you should leave. This place isn’t safe tonight.” 

“I’m not just going to leave you here,” Adam replied immediately. His tone was flat and unyielding, as though warning Ronan away from any ideas about arguing. 

“Fine,” Ronan said, turning to face Orphan Girl. She was watching them both with narrowed eyes and a heavy frown, clearly disliking the way they were ignoring her. “You guys can keep guard while I make this stupid gun. It should be easier now that I’ve done it before.”

“It’ll draw them closer,” Orphan Girl warned. 

“All the more reason to work quickly,” Ronan muttered. The words soured in his stomach as he was reminded of Mathias and his _incentives_. Fucker didn’t even know how dreams operated, yet talked about encouragement and efficiency like Ronan was some disgruntled factory worker. He’d had ten-minute dreams where he pulled wildly complicated creations from nowhere, and he’d had seven-hour dreams where he couldn’t pull anything at all. For all that Ronan bargained with Mathias for efficiency, dreams genuinely weren’t predictable enough for that. 

He knew it would be impossible to explain that concept to Mathias, who clearly saw the world as a zero-sum game. How do you explain the abstract to the practical? What was color to a man who only cared about black and white? 

Orphan Girl huffed and didn’t move from her crouched position beside the bush. Adam and Ronan sat down next to her. There was no point in wasting time looking for a better spot. The entire forest was beaten down by the wind. As Ronan settled in, starting to form the image of the gun in his mind, he felt icy raindrops starting to sprinkle across his face. 

He groaned in annoyance, but didn’t bother trying to avoid the rain. Instead, he closed his eyes, willing his brain to concentrate on the task at hand. 

After a few moments, the splatter of rain stopped, and Ronan opened his eyes to see a makeshift canopy of leaves above them. Adam was kneeling in front of him, his uninjured hand half-buried in the dirt with a few nearby twigs arranged in a strange pattern. 

Adam noticed his stare and allowed a brief smile to grace his face. “Cabeswater still listens to me sometimes.” 

Ronan’s lips twitched upwards, enjoying the sight of Adam using his powers, but simply warned, “Keep your eyes out for night terrors. I can’t try to control them if I’m focusing on getting this gun.” 

“Got it.”

“If they show up, you have to leave.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m serious. Both of you. They’ll kill you.”

“Ronan, just make your stupid weapon and let me deal with guard duty, okay?”

He smiled at the irritation in Adam’s voice and let his eyes fall closed once again. As he imagined the shape and feel of the Glock 17, Ronan realized that his prediction had been right: it was easier to create the gun now that he’d gone through the initial agonizing process of building it once before. The hard part wasn’t the creation itself, but the technical accuracy that Mathias insisted on. Ronan did not dream things in a methodical way. He could create endless wonders in his mind, but there was no rhyme or reason to it. His creations just existed, inhabiting a part of the universe where science and reality had no say.

From what he could tell, that was just how dreams were, no matter the dreamer. Ronan’s BMW never broke down, much to the relief of Adam, who had taken one look inside the hood and declared the arrangement of the engine to be incomprehensible. Clearly Niall Lynch operated under similar dream principles as Ronan. As far as Ronan knew, Kavinsky had been the best at the technical details, but even then, how could he know? He’d never examined Kavinsky’s rows of Mitsubishis to see if they held up to the exacting standards of reality. 

But Mathias didn’t want obvious dream objects. He wanted something he could sell, and not just to the likes of Greenmantle and Laumonier. Mathias had grander plans than that. And those plans involved Ronan figuring out how to dream his creations like he was actually building them. 

So far, creating the Glock 17 was marginally less painful than pulling teeth. 

Ronan wondered how long it would take for him to get used to it. The dread of that inevitability sank to the bottom of his stomach and soured there. He forced himself to ignore it, focusing solely on his current task. If he could make the gun before the night terrors got there, he’d survive another night and could worry about it then. 

Time passed slowly, but Ronan scarcely paid attention. He managed to keep his concentration on the gun. However, just as he was finishing his creation, the weight of the gun solidifying in his hands, he suddenly felt a shift in the forest around them. 

Ronan opened his eyes. The sun had completely disappeared from the sky. Adam’s makeshift canopy was ragged under the constant wind and rain. He felt the gun in his hands, but as he stared out into the forest, a pack of dark shadows emerged from the blackness.

Adam was already turning, having clearly felt the shift just as Ronan did, and he cried out, “RONAN—!” as the first of the shadows leapt at them. 

A near-invisible shield shuddered in the air before them as the night terror crashed against it. Adam’s hand was still buried in the dirt, eyes alight with magic as he moved with Cabeswater’s enchanted grace. 

Ronan stared at the night terror as it recovered from its abrupt collision. It didn’t look like his terrors from before. There was fur instead of scales and it ran instead of slithered. The beast glared up at him and snarled, sharp teeth bloody and snapping, and Ronan could recognize the markings surrounding its red eyes. He felt like he might vomit. 

He choked down his rush of shame, knowing they only had seconds to spare. Grabbing Adam’s arm, Ronan hissed, “Go! Go, you _have to leave_ —”

“But you—” Adam began to protest.

“I’m waking up now,” Ronan cut him off. He looked around for Orphan Girl, who was cowering against the trunk of a nearby tree. “Go, both of you! Before they—”

He wasn’t able to finish his thought before the night terrors struck again, slamming against Adam’s impromptu shield with a crash like thunder. Orphan Girl skittered back and disappeared into the trees. 

Adam turned to stare at Ronan, hand still firmly in the ground. “On three!” he commanded, voice shaking in fear. Ronan clutched the gun in one hand and Adam’s arm in the other, preparing himself to wake up. “One, two, _three_ —”

The shield vanished and took Adam with it, leaving Ronan against the collection of terror hounds. They leapt forward as Ronan fell backwards into reality, one coming close enough for Ronan to touch its bushy fur as it launched at his face— 

He woke up abruptly, still clutching the gun. A loud crash told him he had not come alone. 

Mathias screamed and jumped away from the terror hound as it charged, only barely managing to avoid getting gutted. Ronan lay frozen in his post-dream paralysis, anxiety and fear churning in his heart even as a small part of his mind whispered that this was exactly what that bastard deserved. But Ronan knew it wasn’t that simple. His night terrors were wild, beastly things, and the monster would just as soon devour Ronan as it would anyone else. 

Ronan managed to scramble to his knees just in time, as the night terror crashed into the bed frame and sent it slamming against the front wall. He leapt off the bed, dropping the gun in his haste to get away, but his sudden movement drew the monster’s attention. 

The nightmare leapt at him and Ronan threw the folding table in its path, sending the contents of the table flying. For a brief moment, the night terror got tangled up in the crossed metal bars and fought to free itself violently. Under the fluorescent lights, Ronan saw that half the monster’s fur was matted with caked, crimson blood. Maggots crawled out of a gaping hole in its forehead. 

Ronan backed up as far as he could, until his back hit the far wall. The night terror was between him and the door, which had been blocked shut by the bed frame. Mathias was on the ground nearby, moving slowly. Blood was splattered across the walls, though Ronan couldn’t tell how much of it was from the creature itself. It dripped blood across the ground as it fought against the crisscrossed bars, snarling viciously. 

As the night terror finally freed itself, Ronan grabbed the nearest object he could – one of the folding chairs – and held it out in a poor attempt at a shield. The bathroom was just a few feet away, but the door had been removed, and Ronan knew he’d just be trapped if he tried to hide in there. He was pinned.

The monster didn’t even acknowledge the chair, baring its teeth and crouching as it started to leap— 

A loud bang shot through the room and the night terror jolted forward, its front paws collapsing underneath it.

Mathias walked forward, limping and holding Ronan’s dreamed gun in his right hand. His left arm hung limply by his side, suit sleeve soaked in blood. He fired three more bullets directly into the monster’s head. 

After a few moments, the night terror stopped moving entirely. Blood pooled beneath it. 

The room was abruptly silent. Mathias turned to glare at him, fury clear on his face, and Ronan just stared back. He felt cold and empty.

There was a bang as the door finally pushed against the bed frame with enough force to jar it partially open. Dipshit pushed halfway in, brandishing his gun and snapping, “Sir, what’s going—” before catching sight of the night terror and choking on his words. 

Mathias said nothing, eyes full of rage as he continued to glower at Ronan. 

Ronan knew it was bad. He could feel the dread settling in his heart. But he couldn’t will himself to speak or move or react at all. He just leaned back against the wall and stared at the dead monster in front of him. 

The fur that wasn’t matted with blood looked puppy soft.

He closed his eyes and waited for whatever would come next.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Animal death, violence, forced starvation, night horrors, dark imagery
> 
> So, this chapter marks the beginning of some of the darker parts of this story. Needless to say, Mathias is not happy. :| And hopefully everyone read the trigger warnings beforehand. T_T I hope everyone is excited for the next chapter. The darkness isn't going away anytime soon.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far! I really love seeing what you all have to say :) I hope this story is living up to all of your expectations. Feel free to follow me at tumblr (I'm also "panaili" there) if you wish.
> 
> As always, many thanks to @Maliciousways, who is an amazing beta.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review the warnings before reading this chapter. It gets very dark.

 

 

 

 

They cleaned the dead body of the night terror away the next morning. The concrete floor was nearly half stained in blood, almost impossible to completely remove without a pressure hose, but Dipshit wiped the blood splatter off the walls. Fuckface brought in new sheets and remade the bed. 

No one spoke. No one brought breakfast or lunch.

Ronan slept on and off in spurts, anxious but unable to fight off the lethargy. He hadn’t gotten more than three hours sleep for over two days. Unfortunately, he hadn’t eaten at all either, so his brief naps kept being broken up by the empty pangs of his stomach.

He wondered how badly Mathias got hurt. He was going to pay for it anyway, so Ronan hoped it was something permanent. 

The dread of his upcoming punishment lingered in the back of his mind all day. When his stomach wasn’t growling, it was twisted up in worried knots. He doubted Mathias would accept any explanation. He could only hope that they’d leave Adam out of it. Logically, Ronan knew how futile his wish was, but he prayed for it nonetheless. 

The sun was just starting to set when Mathias stepped through the open door. He wore a new suit that fit awkwardly over his left arm, clearly covering bandages. Fuckface had been on watch, but now Dipshit was there too, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Ronan stood next to the bed, feeling weak with hunger and anticipation, and met the full force of Mathias’ glare. 

“I suppose you’re pleased with yourself,” Mathias said coolly. Gone was the wild fury from the night before. “I’ve got to admit, I did not see a monster attack coming.” 

Ronan didn’t know what to say. Instinctively, he wanted to shoot off something sarcastic and pissy, but anxiety left him frozen. He had no idea what Mathias had planned. Anything he said could make it worse. Even trying to explain what happened might only rile Mathias up more.

He stayed quiet. 

“What?” Mathias prompted, raising an eyebrow. “No rejoinder? No pithy quip about expecting the unexpected?” 

Sensing that he wasn’t going to get away with silence, Ronan just said, “It was an accident.” 

If anything, Mathias’ face grew even darker, a muscle in his jaw working angrily as he clenched his teeth. After a few moments, he barked out a low laugh. “An accident. Right. You know, Mr. Lynch, I really hoped a full day to prep would have given you more than enough time to come up with a better lie.” 

“I don’t lie,” Ronan snapped, folding his arms across his chest. It felt like he was trying to physically contain the rush of anger that kept trying to bubble up. “I pull things from dreams, right? Well, sometimes I have nightmares. It was an _accident_.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mathias began, but stopped at the sound of footsteps outside the room. He smiled in a way that made Ronan’s insides grow cold. “Well, it happens that I don’t believe you.” 

Ronan looked at the entrance as Fat Fuck and Asshole showed up, dragging Adam between them. He looked nervous, recognizing the break in pattern for the warning it was, and Ronan felt his stomach drop.

Desperately, Ronan started, “I fucking _swear_ , it was an accident—” but Mathias cut him off with a loud, obviously annoyed groan. To punctuate his resolve, he pulled out a gun from a holster at his side and placed the muzzle to Adam’s forehead. Ronan felt his breath catch in his throat. Adam closed his eyes, jaw tightening. 

“If I hear another _fucking word_ from you about accidents, I’ll kill him right now,” Mathias said. “You think it’ll be hard for me to find another friend of yours to take his place? Henrietta’s only an hour from here – we could have some more guests by tomorrow morning. Do you want that, Mr. Lynch?” 

Tightly, Ronan replied, “No.” 

“I didn’t think so,” Mathias said, lowering the gun. He gestured for Fat Fuck and Asshole to pull Adam over to the back wall near the radiator. After re-holstering the gun, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Now, Mr. Lynch. Cross your wrists behind your back.” 

“Why do you—,” Ronan began. 

“I didn’t _ask_ for your fucking comments,” Mathias snapped as Fuckface moved forward to take the handcuffs. “Just cross them.” 

Eyes darting to Adam, Ronan did as he was told. Fuckface tightened the handcuffs expertly and they held firm. Once he was secured, Fuckface grabbed his arm and shoulder and pulled him flush against the wall. Dipshit came across and took his other arm, leaving Ronan with little freedom to move. 

Mathias, having observed the silent operation, said nothing as he turned to face Adam and his guards. Terror began to mount in Ronan’s gut at the dark look in his eyes. 

“It’s Adam, isn’t it?” Mathias asked, voice deceptively pleasant. 

“Yes,” Adam replied, voice flat. He eyed Mathias warily. 

“Do you know what happened here last night?” 

Though Adam’s eyes darted over to Ronan, taking in the bloodstained floor along the way, his expression didn’t change. He shook his head mutely. 

“Well, Mr. Lynch decided to stop cooperating. And we can’t have that,” Mathias informed him. He nodded his head at the guards, who released Adam’s arms and stepped back. Adam was nearly the same size as Mathias, but his ragged pajama pants and worn shirt looked unkempt next to Mathias’ pressed suit. 

Mathias made a show of examining him up and down, sneering as though he evaluated Adam’s appearance and found him wanting. When Adam didn’t show any reaction, his face stony, Mathias smirked. He glanced over at Ronan briefly – just long enough to send fear jolting down his spine – before looking back at Adam and ordering, “Now strip.” 

Adam’s eyes went wide. “W-what?” he asked, clearly not expecting the command. 

“Don’t you fucking—!” Ronan shouted, terror seizing at his heart, but Mathias gestured and the guards shoved him forward before slamming him back against the wall. The impact knocked the air of his lungs and he was cut off with a gasp. 

“No interruptions, Mr. Lynch,” Mathias snapped. Despite his words, he looked delighted by the reaction. Turning back to Adam, he said, “Like I said, strip. Clothes off.” 

Adam swallowed. He placed a hand at the hem of his shirt, pulling the fabric loosely between his fingers as he glanced around the room. His face was blank but his hands were shaking. 

Mathias kept smirking as he stared at him. After Adam continued to hesitate, Mathias rolled his eyes and snidely remarked, “You can keep your panties on if it helps, princess.” 

The insulting tone and nickname were enough to snap Adam out of his initial panic, and his eyes flashed in anger as he glared up at Mathias. Scowling anew, he huffed out an exasperated breath and yanked his shirt off over his head. Dropping it to the floor, he pulled down his pajama pants with equal derision and kicked them aside, leaving him standing in a pair of black boxer-briefs and nothing else. 

Adam said nothing, maintaining his cold expression as he raised his eyebrows at Mathias as though to say, _what now_?

“Turn around,” Mathias continued. “Kneel down and put your wrists on the radiator.”

Continuing to eye Mathias warily, Adam followed the instructions, each movement careful and precise as if dealing with unexploded ammunition. He slowly dropped to his knees in front of the disused radiator, pale skin sharp against the dark bloodstains. Despite his position, Adam kept his face turned toward Mathias, watching him in periphery. 

Mathias gestured at Fat Fuck and Asshole, who both stepped forward. He gave Asshole another set of handcuffs from his jacket pocket, which was promptly used to fasten Adam’s wrists to the top of the radiator.

Fat Fuck, however, started unbuckling the leather belt he wore around his waist. He smirked as he drew the black strap out of the belt loops, his expression tinged with a sadistic gleam, and Ronan wanted to burn him alive. 

Mathias watched Adam’s eyes lock on the belt in alarm. “Oh, I take it you’re familiar with this particular punishment?” he asked, a sinuous smile gracing his lips. He stepped forward and pressed the toe of his shoe to a couple of long, thin scars on Adam’s back. “It looks like you’ve dealt with it before. Daddy not a fan of your boyfriend?” 

Adam glared at him, clenching his jaw but saying nothing. He turned to face the wall rather than continue twisting to watch Mathias, his expression going blank and resigned.

Ronan recognized the look on Adam’s face. It was the same one he’d always adopted whenever Ronan had to drop him off outside the trailer back in high school. Fear and anger and revulsion churned unpleasantly in his stomach, all too similar to how he felt the night Adam’s father clocked him into a railing. The sheer terror when Adam dropped like his strings had been cut. It was the same.

Except this time, he couldn’t fight the monsters off. 

Mathias didn’t bother trying to harass Adam anymore, clearly growing bored with Adam’s lack of reaction. It didn’t matter. Ronan could see by the way Mathias kept glancing at him that he was the real target of all the taunting.

“Now Mr. Lynch,” Mathias said, proving Ronan’s theory as he faced him directly. “Here’s how this works. You disobeyed me, and I can’t have that. While I would love to punish you directly, I am not wasteful. What good is a broken dreamer?”

Ronan glared at him, held in place by the guards on either side of him. He was shaking with the force of his anger, but he kept his jaw tightly clenched rather than lash out. He glanced at Adam and found him looking back. Ronan let himself be strengthened by Adam’s gaze for a brief moment amidst the rage and fear, but couldn’t quite match his ability to mask his emotions.

Mathias took note of the exchange, though his only expression of displeasure was a slight curl of the lips. Still, he continued, “Luckily, we have Adam here to take your place, don’t we?”

Ronan maintained his silence, holding out a slim hope that Mathias would take issue with his attitude and waste more time. However, Mathias didn’t seem to care, as he simply raised his eyebrows at Ronan before turning away and gesturing at Fat Fuck to begin.

For all that Ronan latched onto Fat Fuck’s extra weight to insult, in reality a good amount of his girth was due to his broad, muscular frame. When the folded leather strap connected for the first time, the sharp clap that echoed through the room was loud enough to make Ronan pull back, eyes wide. 

Adam gasped, jerking forward and trying to brace himself against the metal radiator. His broken hand twitched painfully in its ragged splint. 

There was no break before Fat Fuck was swinging the belt again. It struck lower this time, leaving a red welt across Adam’s lower back. Again, at his side. Again, across his spine. Again. Again. Again. 

Adam shuddered beneath the blows, shoulders tight and head bent as he instinctively tried to curl away from the attack. His eyes and jaw were clenched shut. Ronan could tell he was trying not to react, seeing clearly how Mathias meant to use this assault to impact Ronan, but as each blow fell, Adam’s gasps grew louder and more pained. 

Fat Fuck landed a blow across his shoulder blades that sent Adam crashing painfully against the radiator. Then, without pause, he struck the same place three more times in rapid succession, and Adam screamed, his face pressed into his elbow to muffle the sound. 

Ronan felt sick. He had given up his attempt at stoicism and was shaking and cursing beneath the hands of his guards, trying to fight them off with every blow. His face was hot and his eyes wet in pure, unfiltered rage. He wanted nothing more than to tear them all to shreds as he swore viciously over the sound of the attack, spitting and snarling. He could feel Mathias’ eyes on him, savoring every furious reaction, and the attention only stoked his fury further. 

Ronan had no idea how many times Fat Fuck struck, but soon the raised welts began to streak with blood. It dripped from Adam’s back in red lines and left spots of fresh blood splattered across the concrete. 

Adam had given up trying to hide his screams. He shook underneath the attack, his voice ragged with pain.

Ronan couldn’t take it.

“Fucking _stop it_ —!” he screamed at Mathias again, expecting his pleas to be ignored but trying desperately to force a reaction. “I get it, _I get it_ , I’m _sorry_ , fucking _stop_ , _you’re killing him—!”_  

Mathias didn’t seem inclined to stop, his eyes glinting victoriously at Ronan’s fevered apology. Out of nowhere, Ronan felt Fuckface tense up and take a small step forward. His grip on Ronan’s arm was almost painful.

“Sir,” he said, his tone cutting through the tension with military precision.

Mathias raised an eyebrow in surprise and raised a hand to stop Fat Fuck’s next strike. Adam slumped against the radiator, breath thick and catching as he tried not to sob. Blood dripped from the black leather belt. 

“Yes?” asked Mathias, eyes sharp like daggers. “Is there a problem, Aaron?” 

Fuckface hesitated, just briefly, and Ronan could see his resolve waffle under the weight of Mathias’ stare. “It’s just—,” he began, gesturing vaguely at Adam, “—you could break his back. Hitting too hard against the spine, that far up.” 

“And why do you care?” Mathias’ tone was icy, his question a loaded gun. 

Fuckface settled back into his default dead-eyed stare, steady again now that he’d committed to speaking. With an off-hand tone that belied the situation, he replied, “Figured you wouldn’t want to deal with a hostage that couldn’t walk.” 

Mathias stared at Fuckface, suspicion clear in his gaze. He said nothing. 

Fuckface stared back. Then, shrugging, he said, “Just thought you’d want to know, sir. Fuck knows Brad doesn’t have interrogation experience. If you want to kill the kid, by all means, keep letting Brad whale on him.” 

“Hey, fuck you!” Fat Fuck said, offended. 

“I’m not wrong, asshole,” Fuckface sniped back. 

Mathias said nothing, though the dangerous glint in his eyes had calmed down to evaluating consideration. Ronan barely let himself breathe, watching each movement with nervous anticipation. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Adam still trembling on the ground, breathing heavily. 

Mathias noticed the attention, gaze sharpening dangerously as he looked at Ronan.

“What do you think, Mr. Lynch?” Mathias asked. “Have you learned your lesson?” 

“Yes,” Ronan replied immediately, staring him dead in the eyes. If he was a better actor, he might have looked away, thrown in a sob, something easy to make it clear how badly he’d been defeated, but the terror and fury kept Ronan’s tone cold and his body tense. 

“I suppose that’s about the best we can do,” Mathias said wryly, turning to Fat Fuck and holding his hand out for the belt. He grabbed the bloody leather strap and let its sharp silver buckle dangle toward the ground. He caught Ronan’s eye with a challenging stare. “But just in case—”

With little warning, Mathias whipped the buckle down at Adam. It struck him once, twice, three times against his side, cracking loudly as it collided with his ribs. There was barely any time for Adam to tense and scream before it was over, and he sagged against the radiator with renewed shaking. His breath came in desperate gasps. 

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Ronan snarled, struggling anew. “What the _fuck_ , I said I _got it_ , seriously, I _learned the fucking lesson—!_ ” 

Mathias dropped the belt and stalked over to stand directly in front of Ronan, eyes vicious and cold. He grabbed Ronan by the jaw, smearing blood across his face. “ _This_ ,” he said, directing Ronan’s face toward Adam, “was fucking _child’s play_. Let me make that clear. I don’t just want you to know that, I want you to fucking breathe it. You’re mine now, and you’ll do what I say, or this will get ten times worse. Do you understand?” 

He tugged Ronan’s jaw back toward him now, faces barely an inch apart. For several seconds, Ronan stared at him in silence, fear and hatred boiling the air between them. He could feel Adam’s blood drying on his skin. 

“Yes,” Ronan finally replied. His tone sounded dead and cold. “I understand.” 

Mathias held him there for a moment longer before he seemed satisfied with Ronan’s reaction. He released Ronan’s jaw and turned away, wiping his bloody hand distastefully on the bed as he passed. Dismissively, he gestured to Adam’s crumpled form and directed, “Get him out of here.” 

Ronan watched anxiously as they pulled Adam up and uncuffed him from the radiator. Adam stumbled as they yanked him to his feet, clearly having difficulty walking. He didn’t look up, his face knotted in pure concentration just to stay upright.

“I think we’ll take a break for the evening,” Mathias continued. Ronan barely paid attention, eyes locked on Adam as Fat Fuck and Asshole started to drag him away. “Let you have some more time to really take in what you learned today.”

Finally, Adam glanced up, eyes dark and heavy as they latched on Ronan. For a brief moment, the entire world felt like just them, scared and angry but still alive. 

Then Adam was gone, pulled away yet again.

Ronan didn’t pay attention as Fuckface removed his handcuffs and Mathias offered another cutting remark. He felt numb, memories of the previous hour already whipping through his mind, cutting deeper with every pass. When he was finally alone, Ronan curled up in the far corner of the room, as far from the blood-splattered radiator as he could, and let the horrible images wash over him. 

He fell asleep like that, sometime late in the night, and scarcely noticed a difference.

 

 

-

 

 

In Cabeswater, Ronan waited. 

The forest was quiet but not calm, sky dark with clouds of an oncoming storm. The world hung suspended in the moment just before the light turned green in a street race, like waiting for the drop on the first big hill of a roller coaster. Ronan’s breath felt caught in his throat the entire time. 

Adam didn’t appear. 

As he waited, Ronan bowed his head, whispering a prayer to God or Cabeswater or whoever the fuck might be listening. 

_Please find us, please find us, pleasefindus—_

He stayed there for a long time, silent and shaking and alone.

 

 

-

 

 

Fuckface brought two breakfast burritos in the next morning. He dropped them on the table without a word, and Ronan hated the gratefulness that surged in his heart. He scowled at him fiercely in unspoken protest to his traitorous emotions.

His frustration didn’t stop him from descending on the burritos with a wild fervor. It barely took two minutes to devour both. 

Thirty minutes later, Ronan was bent over the toilet, forcefully rejecting his breakfast. He stared at the mess staining the white ceramic, trembling and gagging. His stomach churned horribly. Stumbling to his feet, he leaned over the sink and washed out his mouth. He scrubbed at the dried blood on his face and watched ribbons of red-tinged water swirl down the drain. 

When he finally made his way out of the bathroom, there was an apple sitting on the folding table. 

“You shouldn’t eat so fast after starving yourself,” Fuckface said from the door.

Ronan glared at him. Fucking _starving himself_ , like that fucker didn’t know what the fuck had happened. 

“Blow me,” he snapped. Fuckface raised an eyebrow and the change in expression prompted the memory of Fuckface stepping in to help Adam. He didn’t have to do that, and Ronan knew it. The whole thing made him felt indebted without consent and it only infuriated Ronan more that he was that desperate for basic human decency. 

Fuckface didn’t say anything else. 

Ronan ate the apple despite it all, taking slow, measured bites and hating himself for it.

 

 

-

 

 

Clearly wary after the previous gun disasters, that evening Mathias took a step back and asked Ronan to make an old-fashioned rotary telephone. He didn’t say anything about their deal, but Mathias’ jaw was set as though it wouldn’t take much to trigger his cruelty, and Ronan knew it he was still being punished, even if only through isolation. He didn’t dare ask after Adam. 

Cabeswater was empty when he arrived. 

Ronan lingered as long as he dared, gripping a clunky, lime-green phone in his lap, but Adam didn’t appear. His heart panged with worry, but he couldn’t stay. Not with Mathias trip-wire angry and waiting. 

Mathias took the phone without a word, leaving Ronan in silence once more.

 

 

-

 

 

The next day passed in much the same way. 

Ronan played a game called “Kick the Wall Until the Guard Wants to Kill You” for most of the morning. 

Fuckface didn’t play, but Dipshit lost twice.

 

 

-

 

 

That night Ronan sat in Cabeswater, half-heartedly forming an old-fashioned pocket watch and waiting for Adam to appear next to him.

He wasted time writing notes on random rocks with the vague hope that Gansey or Blue or Cheng would see them, worry and frustration boiling in his chest. 

Adam never showed up.

 

 

-

 

 

He had reached a new level of boredom. 

Ronan had been bored before. Ordinary boredom at school, counting down the minutes until the bell rang and he could snatch a few minutes of freedom before being dragged to another obnoxious lecture. Summer boredom, infinitely more free but equally tedious: long stretches of lying in tall grass, hot sun beating down on bare skin. The boredom of road trips, where hours were spent passing nothing but cornfields and tiny rundown towns on the way to visit some obscure relative in Minnesota. 

None of it compared to this. 

Ronan lay on the concrete floor, staying carefully clear of the bloodstains, and counted the specks on the ceiling. He had started scratching lines in the wall to count the days he’d been trapped, but after calculating he realized it had somehow only been a week. Seven days wasn’t terribly hard to scratch into a wall. 

It was hard now that the numbness was gone. 

The anxiety gnawed on his stomach just as much now that he was being fed. Possibly even more. He’d stopped feeling cramps after awhile when he was starving; now it was nonstop. 

The boredom was an all-encompassing wave. He sunk into it like the sea and found himself tossed around by all the worries and fears that he’d shoved forcefully to the back of his mind. The shock of their kidnapping had worn off, as had the strange detached state he’d felt after they hurt Adam. Ronan found himself simultaneously anxious and exhausted, bored and terrified, and helpless to do anything about any of it. 

He counted the specks on the ceiling. He got up to 861 before losing count and starting over. 

Mathias was going to show up again and ask for something technical and stupid, and Ronan was going to dream it for him because there was nothing else he could do. If he was lucky, Mathias would keep his pattern of cold disengagement and Ronan could keep his tentative grasp on his anger. It simmered beneath the surface and fed his frustrations well. 

He kept his mind fixed on Adam, wondering if he was healing, worrying that he hadn’t shown up in Cabeswater. Hating that he’d been dragged along to act as leverage. Ronan wished he could go back in time and stop Adam from ever even running into Gansey, ever joining their group, ever allowing himself to love and be loved by a dreamer. Maybe then he would have been safe. 

Whenever Ronan closed his eyes, he could see Adam’s torn up back and hear Adam’s screams escalating. 

He focused on the specks on the ceiling instead. 

Maybe he could get to a thousand before Mathias came back.

 

 

-

 

 

That evening, Ronan was in the middle of dreaming up a sewing machine when Adam finally appeared in Cabeswater. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ronan said, looking up from his third attempt at the machine, which – for some unknown reason – had come out hot pink and battery-powered. 

Adam’s image flickered, like the sheer act of being seen was enough to affect his presence. He was still shirtless, though he had reclaimed his pajama pants at some point. Raising his uninjured hand in a half-hearted wave, Adam quietly said, “Hey.” 

Ronan cursed again and let the dream dissolve into dust. It hadn’t looked functional anyway. “Where have you been?” he asked, the clear worry in his tone drowning out the accusation. He immediately made his way across the meadow to crouch next to Adam, adding, “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” Adam replied automatically, but Ronan was close enough now to see the collection of red stripes across his back. He leaned in to examine them, but Adam pulled away, biting his lip and looking uncomfortable. “Ronan, really, it’s—” 

“Adam, just let me look at them, okay?” Ronan snapped, all the frustration from the past two days blazing through him in a rush. 

Anger flashed in Adam’s eyes, and for a moment Ronan thought he might keep protesting, but he sighed instead and gestured for Ronan to continue. It was strangely heartening to see him fighting back, just like the first time Ronan noticed an unsightly bruise and attempted to bully Adam into an explanation. He hadn’t won those arguments back then. 

In the interest of sparing Adam’s pride, Ronan kept his inspection short. Adam’s back was crisscrossed with red welts running down his spine. His ribs on the right side were littered with dark purple and blue bruises from where the buckle had struck. It was a grotesque scene, but Ronan was glad that at least nothing looked infected. 

“Other than my ribs, I’m mostly just sore,” Adam offered as he begrudgingly allowed the examination.

“But the ribs?” Ronan prompted, looking closer at the area. 

“A couple are bruised, I think. Might be cracked,” Adam admitted. He shrugged slightly. “It’s hard to tell the difference without an x-ray.” 

Ronan knew better than to ask how Adam had come by that knowledge. He drew back from the injuries and pressed a kiss on Adam’s temple instead, feeling Adam sigh into the contact. Then, settling back on the ground, Ronan said, “What the fuck took you so long? I’ve been freaking out.”

“Sorry,” Adam replied, looking genuinely reproachful. “The first night was kind of, um, fuzzy, I guess, and Mathias has been making one of the guards sit in the room until he knew I wasn’t dying or anything. I couldn’t scry with them watching me.” 

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Didn’t seem like he was that concerned when he was giving you the injuries in the first place.” 

“Despite all his talk, I honestly don’t think he has a backup plan if they kill me,” Adam said. “I was pretty out of it the first day, so they weren’t that concerned with me listening to anything. I heard Mathias yelling at them. Apparently, our disappearance is all over the news.” 

“Really?” Ronan said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s not like they’d send out an Amber Alert or whatever for a couple of adults.” Then, at Adam’s deadpan expression, Ronan said, “Oh. Right. Gansey.” 

“Yeah, it turns out having a Congresswoman for a mother comes in handy.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Ronan asked. He restlessly played with Adam’s good hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of his palm and noting the chewed nails. Adam tolerated the attention with a small, fond smile. “Means they’re looking. Do you think there are any search parties nearby or anything? Were they talking about moving us?”

“Sort of, but there wasn’t anything concrete,” Adam admitted, a crease appearing between his eyes as his content expression faded. “Not where I could hear, anyway. I don’t think anyone knows where we are yet.”

“But all the attention can’t be good,” Ronan countered. “Definitely makes it harder to kidnap anyone else, so that’s a plus. And Henrietta isn’t that big. If people are all spun up about kidnapping, it’ll make any new people stand out more, wouldn’t it?” 

“Depends where they go,” Adam said. “Where I grew up, people don’t ask questions.”

“Yeah, but I don’t give a fuck about anyone who lives where you grew up, so my point still stands,” Ronan replied. 

Adam huffed a laugh, lips twitching upward despite it all. “I’d like to see that. Mathias trying to threaten _my_ family to coerce you.” 

“He’d have better luck using that as a bribe,” Ronan said, grinning at the dark humor. “Really more of a carrot than a stick, that one.” 

Adam shook his head but couldn’t muffle his laughter, ducking his head and leaning into Ronan’s shoulder to hide his smirk. “I shouldn’t find that funny.” 

“No, you definitely should, fuck those guys,” Ronan argued, but his tone was light. There was a weird comfort in insulting Adam’s parents. “Besides, I’m hilarious.” 

“You’re definitely something,” Adam murmured, but he didn’t move away from his new position resting on Ronan’s shoulder. After a beat of silence, he asked, “How long do you have?” 

Ronan shrugged. “I don’t have a time limit. I think he’s trying to reconsider his approach, so he’s just been wasting time having me create different machines. Today’s request is a sewing machine, but my mom had one, so I’m not really worried about it. It’s just boring.”

“Ah,” Adam said, turning his hand around until he could entangle his fingers with Ronan’s. “Could we just sit, then? For a while?” 

His tone was neutral, but Ronan could see the darkness that lingered behind his eyes. The peacefulness of Cabeswater was intoxicating in light of their reality, and Ronan could tell that Adam was desperately trying to cling to it. He looked distant despite his tight grip on Ronan’s hand. 

“Where the fuck would I go?” Ronan replied, tone mocking, and was heartened by the fond smile that graced Adam’s face. He stared down at their clasped hands and thought, bittersweet, that at least they were still together.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Torture, implied threat of rape, explicit death threats, foul language, force starvation and disordered eating, hostage situations, serious bodily injury, reference to canon child abuse.
> 
> SO uhhh yeah, I hope everyone got through the chapter okay and read the warnings beforehand. I promise that help is on its way for these guys! At least they got a comfort scene at the end to go with all the hurt? -_-;
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter and earlier! Please let me know what you thought about this chapter in the comments below. I seriously appreciate hearing any feedback. :) As always, feel free to find me on Tumblr as well, as "panaili"
> 
> I am, as always, utterly indebted to my beta @Maliciousways for making this story so much better than it would be without her. She's the best :)


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

The thing about being forced to dream every night was that it fucked up any hope of a normal sleep schedule. Ronan was already only loosely familiar with the concept of sleeping a solid eight hours, and nominally aware of how normal people approached the REM cycle. Dreamers worked differently, as far as he could tell. He could sleep for a half hour and be dreaming the whole time, or sleep for ten hours and never dream at all. 

Normally, a lot of his dreaming habits were due to intention. He’d gotten better at managing his gift over the years, and learning to quiet his mind played a big part in that control. If he fell asleep with no desire to dream, he generally had 50-50 chance of dreaming. Maybe a little more than that if he’d had a particularly stressful day. But if he fell asleep with the intention of dreaming, he nearly always managed to do it. 

The pills were what fucked it up. 

They were a pill-shaped gateway into Cabeswater. Insta-Dream. All of the dream power with none of the preparation or focus. And like most shortcuts, they had their downsides. Ronan rocketed into Cabeswater and rocketed back out, leaving him unbalanced and disoriented. Normally, his dreams energized him, but the pills just stripped him of his focus and left him simultaneously exhausted and anxious. 

Ronan counted himself lucky if he managed to get to sleep after dreaming something for Mathias. Usually he’d lie in bed and doze intermittently, arm dropped over his eyes to block the florescent light from the ceiling, which was left on at all times. Dipshit usually sat inside the room, though he’d often pace outside the room on his rounds. 

Any hope he had of sneaking out while Dipshit slept on night shift was squashed within the first few nights of captivity. Fucker was apparently a night owl who made sure to check on Ronan every fifteen minutes. When he wasn’t pacing or doing random exercises, Dipshit spent his time playing Pokemon on his DS, which Ronan would mock if he weren’t so bitterly envious of him for having actual entertainment. He’d do fucking _crossword puzzles_ at this point, just for something to do.

In any case, following his nightly delivery of Random Ass Dream Object to Mathias, sleep was evasive and Ronan was bored as he lay on the bed, staring at the shadows the light cast on the wall. Dipshit had meandered outside the room to do another round. 

When he heard a low buzz outside the room, Ronan sat up on his elbows, frowning. The sound was quickly followed by Dipshit’s sharp gasp and the thump of him sinking to the ground.

Ronan sat completely upright, bracing himself for this sudden change. 

Moments later, Mr. Gray appeared in the doorway. 

Ronan’s eyes went wide.

“What the fuck?” he said, something akin to hope blooming desperately in his chest. 

Mr. Gray didn’t say anything, gesturing for Ronan to come quickly. He held a blocky, gun-shaped device in his hand that Ronan, after a brief moment of alarm, realized must be a taser. 

Ronan didn’t have to be told twice, immediately jumping from the bed and joining him at the doorframe. Mr. Gray didn’t look at him, eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway for any sign of discovery. Dipshit was lying unconscious just outside the door, half-illuminated in the beam of light from the doorway. Well, probably unconscious. Ronan honestly didn’t care enough to check. 

Silently, Mr. Gray grabbed Ronan by the elbow and guided him toward the far stairwell, where there were no lights to reveal them. They crept down the stairs, moving quickly enough that Ronan could tell he was nervous. Given that it was Mr. Gray, this thought didn’t comfort him. 

Finally, they crept out the back door. Outside, the surrounding flatland was pitch-black and eerie, with scarcely any light to frame the buildings. The sky was overcast, clouds blocking out any moonlight with only the occasional star peeking out. A skinny access road ran alongside the back of the building, leading back into a patchy forest. 

For a brief moment, Ronan felt overcome with the sheer relief of being outside the building for the first time in a week. The air was warm and fresh, smelling like dry grass and hay, and there was a cool breeze rustling the foliage alongside the road. 

Then he noticed Gansey standing by the corner of the building, shoulders tense and eyes sharp. He was dressed in all black and, most incredibly, holding a gun. 

“Ronan,” Gansey said as they stepped out, words coming out like a breath. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Ronan, clinging tight. “Are you hurt? We’ve been worried si—” 

“Where’d you get a _gun_?” Ronan interrupted. They were probably not the most inspiring words of reunion, but it was certainly what caught his attention. 

“Well,” Gansey began awkwardly, before Mr. Gray cut him off with a sharp, flat-handed gesture.

“Stop talking,” Mr. Gray hissed. His eyes were hard as he scanned the surrounding area, keeping all of them tucked into the dark shadow cast by the building’s overhang. “There are four roving patrols and we can’t afford to be heard by any of them.” 

Ronan and Gansey fell silent, though Gansey kept his hand clamped around Ronan’s wrist. It was the most solid thing Ronan had felt in nearly forever, and he resisted the urge to sigh into Gansey’s proximity. His heart was beating fast, tense in light of their attempted escape, but relief was threatening to overtake his mind. They were so close. 

Evidently not noticing anything imminently threatening, Mr. Gray turned back to them. “Gansey, take Ronan back to the car.” 

“What about Adam?” Gansey asked.

“I’m getting him next,” Mr. Gray said, moving down the road in the shadows as he spoke. “But you two need to go back to the car.” 

“I’m coming with,” insisted Ronan, snagging Mr. Gray’s arm by the sleeve of his shirt.

“No, it’s too dangerous—”

“No, _fuck you_ ,” Ronan snapped, voice low and sharp. “I’m not leaving this place without him. I’m coming.” 

“We can help keep lookout,” Gansey whispered. He looked at Mr. Gray with a desperate fear that looked out of place on his face. “Please. We need to get both of them.” 

“I _am_ getting both of them,” Mr. Gray said, looking aggravated. He’d stopped his slow creep around the buildings to face them, clenching his jaw. “Too many people gets too risky. And priority one is getting Lynch out. We _agreed_ on that, Gansey.” 

Anger boiled in Ronan’s stomach, primed from his entire week and just waiting for a spark. Hotly, he hissed, “What the _fuck_ does _that_ mean, priority one—?” 

“We already got Ronan,” Gansey started at the same time, “and now we’re just—” 

“Okay, shut up, _shut up_ ,” Mr. Gray cut them both off. He closed his eyes for a moment, his expression very put upon and annoyed. Then, with a heavy sigh, he whispered, “Fine. You can be lookouts. But we only have twenty minutes at best before they’ll notice the missing guard, so we have to move fast. No more arguing, do you understand?”

His voice was as solid as concrete, tone heavy with years of untold experience in tense situations. Ronan had never wondered much about how a man like Mr. Gray came to be, too busy hating him in all the ways he knew how, but in this moment, Ronan found himself thinking, _if anyone is going to get us out of here, it’ll be Mr. Gray._  

Both Gansey and Ronan nodded, falling silent at Mr. Gray’s commanding tone. Mr. Gray stared at them for a beat too long, clearly questioning his choice, but said nothing as he led them down the access road once more. 

Ronan followed closely behind Gansey, who was mirroring Mr. Gray’s steps. The overcast sky hid them as well as any disguise, deep black shadows swallowing their forms until Ronan could scarcely see five feet ahead of him. Mr. Gray was moving fast along the side of the road, relying on their covered invisibility and clearly trying to make up as much distance as he could while they still had the dark to rely on. 

A brief flash of reflected light made Ronan glance up, and he was just barely able to make out the tiny form of Robobee. In a blink, he lost it to the darkness, but Ronan felt a small surge of comfort from its presence. 

Soon, Mr. Gray led them back to the main road. They had crept along behind the main buildings, so rather than stepping out in the middle, they were tucked into a far corner. From here, Ronan could see two lights illuminating the wide road, placed on opposite sides of the street in front of the building where Ronan had been kept. A lone guard was walking along the road near the lights, his back turned toward them and slowly moving further away.

Eyes staying locked on the guard, Mr. Gray murmured in a low voice, “My source says they’re keeping Adam two buildings down from here. We can sneak in the back, but we’ll have to risk crossing the street here.”

Ronan and Gansey nodded silently, nerves stealing all desire to speak. 

The light on this end of the street was dim, but the road was wide enough that hugging the building shadows wouldn’t help with much. If the guard turned, he’d be able to see them crossing, so Mr. Gray kept watchful eyes on his movements as he motioned for Ronan and Gansey to get ready. Gansey darted across first, crouched in more of a speedy walk than a run.

When it was Ronan’s turn, he braced himself for the pain of running across the gravel road in bare feet, but despite his need to step gingerly, he managed to make it across the road in good time. He and Gansey huddled together in the shadow of another building, watching the road for Mr. Gray’s appearance. 

Minutes passed. Ronan picked at his wrist bands as his anxiety grew, feeling their time dwindling away with every passing second.

Finally, Mr. Gray appeared, looking annoyed by the delay. 

“A second guard showed up,” he explained in a hushed voice, though he neglected to elaborate further. He didn’t pause, gesturing for Ronan and Gansey to follow him around the back of the buildings. A chain-link fence lined with barbed wire ran parallel to the buildings, leaving only a narrow footpath along the back. The light from the road had no chance of surviving the trip, leaving them in near pitch-black darkness. 

Mr. Gray led the way, keeping a fast pace. When they finally reached the building in question, he pulled open the back door without hesitation, though he was carefully slow in order to minimize sound.

Something seemed off about the situation, confusing Ronan for a moment before he came to the question nagging in the back of his mind: why was the door open? It didn’t make any sense. He followed Mr. Gray through the open door, frowning at the seemingly foolish security lapse, and then suddenly remembered Mr. Gray’s words from earlier. 

He had a source. 

A source that left doors open?

Any desire to puzzle more over Mr. Gray’s mysterious source was forgotten in favor of following Mr. Gray into the building. Drifting down the hall on the first floor, Ronan could hear the distant sound of a television and realized that there must be some kind of gathering point for the guards in this building. Mr. Gray paused on the landing, narrowing his eyes at the noise, but soon gestured for them to continue. He led them up a set of dingy concrete stairs, their movements quiet and slow. 

As they neared the second floor, Ronan could see a light reflecting from further down the hallway, proving they were on the right track. 

Mr. Gray halted at the top of the stairs, staying carefully outside the circle of light. He stared severely at Gansey and Ronan, holding up a hand in the unmistakable order to stay put. To Gansey specifically, he gestured to the staircase they’d just climbed, and Gansey moved without further instruction to station at the top, gun held down by his side. 

Mr. Gray carefully angled himself to gaze down the hallway, holding the taser against his chest. He waited in frozen silence for a long moment, reminding Ronan of barn cats the moment before they struck at a hapless mouse. Without warning, he moved, disappearing around the corner into the light. 

Seconds later, Ronan heard the familiar buzz of the taser, followed by the thump of a falling body. He edged forward to peer around the corner and saw Mr. Gray standing over Asshole’s body, staring down at him and checking for responsiveness with his foot. A walkie-talkie lay forgotten on the floor, clearly still turned on by the red light blinking at the front. The rest of the hallway was dark and quiet. 

There was a folding chair placed in front of the door, light streaming out of the open door into the hallway. Ronan’s eyes immediately pinned on the room and he darted for it, discarding Mr. Gray’s instruction to stay put without a second thought. 

He skidded to a halt in front of the doorway moments before Mr. Gray, searching the room with a singular focus. The room was bare save for a familiar hunched form. 

Adam was sitting beneath the painted over window, knees drawn to his chest. He stared back at Ronan, eyes wide in surprise. 

“Ronan,” Adam said. 

His name sounded like a prayer in Adam’s mouth. 

Ronan rushed forward, falling to his knees beside Adam and grasping his good hand. Adam looked tired and sore, the injuries across his back even more wretched in reality, but his eyes were soft and mouth smiling as he gazed up at Ronan. 

He wanted to wrap his arms around Adam and lose himself in relief, but every second counted, so he settled for helping him stand up instead. Adam moved like everything hurt, his breath coming in short measured gasps.

Mr. Gray stood at the doorway, his face tense as he scanned their surroundings. He glanced back at Ronan and Adam once they were both standing, taking in Adam’s injuries and slow movements with only the barest narrow of his eyes. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Lynch, help Parrish to the stairs, we don’t have much—”

On the floor, the walkie-talkie suddenly crackled to life.

“MAN DOWN! IMMEDIATE CHECK ON TARGETS!” commanded a furious voice, words tightening a noose around Ronan’s heart. It was Mathias. Ronan felt like his voice had been permanently burned into his brain. 

“Move!” Mr. Gray said, abandoning his caution for haste. 

With Adam leaning on him, Ronan ran for the staircase as fast as he could. Despite his injuries, Adam kept pace, his face locked in a determined grimace.

The hallway lights flashed on, dazzling in their brightness. 

“There!” shouted a voice. Multiple voices. 

Bullets fired. 

Mr. Gray pulled them around the corner as he fired back at their pursuers, jaw held tight as he aimed his gun. Ronan could see Gansey still positioned at the mouth of downward stairs, framed by the darkness of the stairwell. His eyes were wide in the sudden light.

More shots sounded. 

Ronan suddenly stumbled, pain blooming in his side like a gut punch. He couldn’t breathe. Adam dropped to the side as he lost his footing, crashing into the upward stairs and landing heavily against the railing. Ronan felt like fire was burning near his stomach. He fell forward and slammed into Gansey, sending both of them tumbling down the stone steps with a loud clatter.

Mr. Gray swore. 

Distantly, Ronan could hear Mathias’ tinny voice over the walkie-talkie. “—STOP FIRING, you IDIOTS! You’ll HIT THE ASSET!”

_Too late, asshole_ , Ronan thought, through a veil of fog. His brain seemed scrambled after the fall. He felt dizzy. 

Gansey scrambled up beside him and Ronan tried to follow, but his hands slid out from underneath him, slipping on something dark and wet. He felt cold. 

Strong hands hauled him up. 

“—to go _now_ —!” 

“But—” 

“Now!”

The world went dark.

 

 

-

 

 

The world was a series of flashes. 

Trees whipping past his face, upside down.

The creak of a car door – hurried shouting – the roar of an engine.

_“Ronan, just stay with us—”_ Blue, hair wild and eyes teary. 

Henry pressing something heavy against his side as starbursts of white pain exploded behind his eyes. 

The car rocked. 

Shots fired in the distance.

The world tilted on its axis.

Ronan scrambled and scraped, but slipped away.

 

 

-

 

 

Darkness wrapped around him. 

He was walking along a pitch-black road, aware of only the ground beneath his bare feet and icy wind on his face. There was no light. 

He heard the chatter of beaks around him, claws scratching with high shrieks along the concrete. He shivered. 

Something screeched behind him, breath hot on his ear.

Ronan ran.

 

 

-

 

 

Voices shouted. 

_“—GSW to the abdomen, severe blood loss—”_

The world whipped by in a white blur, lights glaring brightly in his eyes. 

_“I need O positive in OR 3—”_

Brown eyes above him stared down with intense focus. 

_“I know you’ve been in and out, Mr. Lynch, but we’re going to need you to sleep for now.”_

He felt like he was floating.

 

 

-

 

 

In Cabeswater, Ronan was alone.

Nothing hurt here. 

The trees whistled a sad melody as the wind blew through their leaves, and Ronan sat down on the grass, feeling more tired than he had been in a long time. He looked around but couldn’t see Adam or Orphan Girl anywhere. 

When he looked down, his hands were sticky with blood. 

He closed his eyes.

 

 

-

 

 

When he opened them again, Ronan found himself in a quiet room. A machine was beeping next to him, low and steady. The smell of antiseptic hit moments before he registered the cream-colored walls, flashing him back to his last extended stay in the hospital before Ronan could do much more than register where he was. 

His side ached. 

A hand was holding his. 

Ronan slowly slid his eyes over, lethargy weighing his movements down to a crawl. Blue was sitting at the side of his bed, his hand clenched in hers. She wasn’t looking at him, but rather arguing with someone else, her eyes flashing and her jaw set. 

“—just barely got away,” Blue was saying. Her voice was low but biting. “You’re lucky you weren’t shot too.” 

“You being in there with us wouldn’t have changed anything, Jane,” Gansey replied. He was out of Ronan’s eyeshot, but moving his head right now seemed impossible. His eyelids alone felt like heavy weights. “We got surprised—” 

“I know,” Blue cut in, “We were watching through Robobee. If we’d had more people, maybe we could have fought back or something.” 

“None of us are any good at shooting.” 

“You don’t—,” began Blue, her voice getting a familiar gravely sound as she settled in for a longer argument, but she looked down and stopped abruptly. “Oh— Ronan! You’re awake!” 

The announcement dragged the conversation to a halt as Gansey immediately came to Ronan’s side, staring intently down at him. “Oh, how are you feeling? Is the pain bad?” 

Before Ronan could say anything, Henry leaned into Ronan’s vision, looking concerned. “Should we call the doctor?” 

“Mr. Gray said to call him first,” Blue replied, worrying her lip.

“But we can call the doctor anyway, if you need her,” Gansey said to Ronan. He was clearly trying to radiate a comforting expression, but Ronan had been friends with Gansey long enough to know his various masks. Gansey was barely holding onto this one. His smile was shaky. 

“I don’t need a fucking doctor,” Ronan muttered, though in reality he wasn’t sure. His side throbbed with muted pain, but as Ronan tried to focus past the cobwebs in his mind, it began to feel more focused. His bed was raised slightly, just enough to see forward rather than up, but any attempts at sitting up further were stymied by the apparent injury. “What… happened?”

“You were shot,” Gansey said frankly, his tone subdued. His jaw was tight with worry. “You’ve been in and out for a couple of days.”

Blue leaned in and touched Ronan’s hand again. “How much do you remember?” she asked. She seemed nervous. Beside her, Henry had started typing something on his cell phone, looking up every so often to glance at the door as though waiting for someone.

“We were getting shot at…” Ronan answered, trailing off and narrowing his eyes at her. He looked between the three of them. It felt like he was missing something. “What happened?” 

There was a moment where none of them could meet his eyes. It only lasted a second before Blue was grabbing his hand again and Gansey started saying something about Mr. Gray, but it was enough. 

Ronan’s stomach bottomed out, his breath catching in his throat. 

“Where’s Adam?” he asked, words slicing through the air like a knife. Gansey froze and fell silent, staring at Ronan like he wished he could look away. Ronan felt like his entire body had been submerged in ice water, terror freezing his heart. Unbidden, he whispered his denial. “ _No_ , no, no—” 

The world narrowed down to the feeling of panic clenching his chest. 

He could see his father’s beaten body on the ground, blood splattered across the driveway. 

He could hear Adam saying his name like a prayer. 

“Ronan, no, he’s—” Gansey started, jolting out of his own petrified reaction and reaching to clasp Ronan’s other hand. Words tumbled out in a rush, “He’s alive. We think. We just— they were shooting, and we couldn’t fight, and—” 

“Mathias still has him,” came a new voice from the door. 

Ronan looked sharply over, terror maintaining a death grip on his heart. Mr. Gray stood in the doorway. Behind him, Ronan could see glimpses of other people in the hallway – Declan and Maura, both eying the room with concern – but he couldn’t focus on anything but Mr. Gray’s statement. 

“He what?” Ronan asked. He was shaking. The world felt unreal. 

“We were surprised in the middle of the rescue effort,” Mr. Gray said, keeping his tone flat and steady. He stepped forward and closed the door behind him, holding up a hand to dissuade anyone from following him. “You got shot and fell down the stairs. Parrish fell down on the landing. I was able to get you and Gansey out, but only barely. There was no way for me to go back and get Parrish.” 

Mathias still had Adam. 

It felt like the world was focusing in on his panicking heart. He couldn’t breathe. 

Adam was still trapped there. He’d been alone with them for two days. 

Ronan felt like he was going to throw up. 

“He’s still alive,” Gansey rushed to add, clearly alarmed by the expression on Ronan’s face. “At least – we think so.” 

“Robobee was following you guys,” Henry explained. “We saw them grab him, but they didn’t – y’know, they just took him away, not—”

Ronan could barely hear them. There was a buzzing in his ears. 

Blue said something. Ronan didn’t catch it. Dimly, he could hear the heart monitor beep faster. He felt like his throat was closing up.

Suddenly, Mr. Gray was in his face, snatching his hands up and squeezing tight. It hurt viciously, like he was digging his thumbs into the bones of Ronan’s hands, and the pain made Ronan recoil. His side sharply protested the movement, and Ronan gasped in agony, tears springing to his eyes without warning. 

Growling, he clenched his eyes and wheezed until the pain subsided slightly. Then, glaring up at Mr. Grey, he snapped, “What the _fuck_ —”

“You were starting to have a panic attack,” Mr. Gray said coolly. “We don’t have time for that.” 

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Ronan hissed in response, anger burning his blood. The panic wasn’t gone, just redirected. “Seriously _fuck you_ , don’t you guys get it? He’s going to kill him. He only ever wanted _me_ , you assholes, Adam was a _hostage_ — you don’t _understand_ , he’s going to _kill him_ — if he doesn’t have me, he doesn’t _need_ him _,_ he’s going to— we have to get him back—!” 

He was crying, messy and ugly, but he couldn’t stop. The words spilled out of his mouth in a furious, terrified stream. Dimly, he was aware of Gansey trying to reach for him while Blue and Henry stared in shocked silence, but he ignored them. He couldn’t deal with anyone else right now. 

“I _know_ ,” Mr. Gray said. He was right up in Ronan’s face, and for a hateful second all Ronan could see was the man who killed his father. “But you’re awake now. And we have to move fast if we’re going to get him back. It starts with you.” 

Ronan stared at him, all the words he wanted to say ready on his tongue, but kept his reply succinct by flatly replying, “Me.” 

In the cold silence, it sounded like a curse. 

“Yes,” Mr. Gray confirmed, ignoring Ronan’s fury in favor of speed. “Once they know you’re awake and talking, the police are going to show up. They’ll want your statement. As far as they know, you escaped on your own and got shot in the process, but managed to run into a search party in time to be rescued. You’ll have to stick to that story.” 

He paused, watching Ronan for confirmation. Ronan stared darkly at him for a long moment before raising an eyebrow, not trusting himself to stay civil with anything more. 

Mr. Gray seemed to take the gesture as confirmation and continued, “Mathias has a mole inside the police force, so we can’t rely on them. We have to get Adam back ourselves.” 

“Why have you just been _waiting around,_ then?” Ronan hissed. 

“We were only able to find you the first time because of Adam’s message,” Gansey elaborated, noticing the confused fury in Ronan’s eyes. “He was able to tell me who kidnapped you, and apparently Mr. Gray had heard of him.” 

“More importantly, I know who he likes to hire,” Mr. Gray corrected. “So I knew who I needed to ask to find out why Mathias took you both.” He stopped briefly, as though uncertain of his next words, and added, “That’s why you were priority one, Ronan.”

It was like pouring lighter fluid on hot coals. 

“The _fuck_ gives you the right to decide fucking _priorities?_ ” Ronan snarled, nearly lunging forward but stopped by a sharp jolt in his side. Gansey moved forward to grab his hand, which Ronan had raised without even realizing it, and he yanked it away. “You should have gotten him out first, _he’s_ the one that was hurt, didn’t you fucking _see_ —?” 

He was yelling at Mr. Gray and glaring at Gansey, anger wild in his veins, but Mr. Gray cut him off before he could get a good momentum going. 

“You were the priority, because unlike Parrish, you’re the prize here. Mathias wants _you_. Which means that he’s not going to get rid of Parrish until he knows whether or not he can get you back again.” Mr. Gray snapped, clearly nearing his breaking point of patience. He had visible bags under his eyes, which invited sympathy but only encouraged Ronan’s scorn. “Not to mention, you’re the dreamer, Lynch. Unlike Parrish, _you_ can make a device to find him.” 

Ronan fell resentfully silent, deepening his scowl in light of the growing realization that Mr. Gray was right. 

Mr. Gray continued, “My source got us access to the warehouses, but he’s gone quiet. I suspect Mathias took their phones. So, I need you to create a device to find Parrish. Preferably with video so I can get the lay of the land. I’ll get him back tonight, but I need your help to do it.” 

“I’m coming as well,” Gansey volunteered, though he was wringing his hands nervously. 

“Me too,” Blue said, right on his heels. Henry nodded behind her. 

Mr. Gray shook his head, sharply saying, “No. The last time we tried that, our scouting mission turned into a haphazard rescue operation and Lynch was _shot_.” He eyed Ronan’s injury like it was offending him, eyes distant. “I’m going alone.” 

“But you’ll need backup!” protested Blue, sounding annoyed at his stubborn resolve. 

“No, he doesn’t,” Ronan said. There were layers to the hatred in his voice – rage at Adam’s botched rescue, annoyance at Mr. Gray’s sheer existence, even lingering anger from the death of his father – and from Mr. Gray’s expression, he could see each of them. But he had Ronan’s attention. 

If anyone could get Adam back, it would be Mr. Gray. Ronan despised that this was the case, but he had to latch onto something. Everything else felt like sand beneath his fingers, loose and insubstantial. There was no way else to save him.

“I’m going alone,” Mr. Gray repeated, eyes dark as he stared down the others. “I’m finishing it tonight. I just need to know where to go.”

He looked back at Ronan. “How long will it take?” 

“It’ll take however long it fucking takes,” Ronan muttered back, already closing his eyes. He reached out to Cabeswater with willful desire for the first time in over a week, and felt the forest reaching back.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Injury caused by guns, hospitalization, panic attacks, kidnapping
> 
> So UHHHH. Yeah. Sorry? -_-;; At least we have the Gangsey back, right?
> 
> Please feel free to throw tomatoes in the comments. Or yell at me. I promise they will both eventually be safe! (...to a certain degree of safe.) Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, I really appreciate the feedback. Thanks as always to everyone that has reviewed in the previous chapters. It's always really encouraging!
> 
> All the love to my beta @Maliciousways, as she is great and good and glorious.


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

 

He awoke to Cabeswater in a slow haze. 

For a moment, Ronan let himself relish in the comfort of Cabeswater welcoming him as it normally did. The gates opening for the Greywaren, no longer forced to become a thief in the night.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the clear blue sky. The trees above him whispered low Latin phrases as the wind rustled their leaves, but Ronan couldn’t make out the words. Sitting up, he rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at his hands. Someone at the hospital had washed them off, but he could still see small bits of blood caked under his fingernails. 

Without thinking, he clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and bowing his head. Cabeswater wasn’t a church, but this felt like a moment for prayer. 

“Help me save Adam,” Ronan murmured. He closed his eyes and pictured what he needed. _Help me save your Magician._

Beneath his feet, he felt Cabeswater respond. The ground rumbled like an earthquake and the wind raged, but he sat in the eye of a storm, safely guarded as Cabeswater surged around him. He concentrated on his task, willing to life a tool to find Adam, a device that would let them turn the spies into the observed and take back what was theirs.

Strangely, Ronan started constructing his dream using the same tricks he’d developed to build Mathias’ collection of technical gadgets. The finicky details of creation were things he had always struggled with, as far back as his misadventures with Kavinsky, but now he found himself reaching for the skills he’d earned during his imprisonment. They were desperate, ugly tools, formed through hardship with hatred, but now Ronan used them for his own reasons. 

He smiled as he felt the device take form in his hands. _Go fuck yourself, Mathias_.

Compared to the agonizing construction of his dreams in the week previous, this dream fell together as easily as breathing. He opened his eyes and saw a collection of items in his hands: three mechanical bugs, smaller than Robobee but just as intricately pieced together, sat on top of a smooth black tablet. The bugs twitched gossamer wings and flew up to float by his face, their segmented forms shimmering blue as light glinted over shiny black bodies. 

Ronan held up a finger and let them land in a row, their delicate limbs like little pinpricks on his skin. Tiny cameras in wide eyes focused and narrowed in on his face. On the tablet screen, three windows displayed the different angles of his face, as clear and distinct as a mirror. 

He cupped the bees between his hands and held them firmly against his heart.

Ronan smiled as he woke up.

 

 

-

 

 

The bugs flew off as soon as Blue managed to open a window, which turned out to be a surprisingly difficult feat. They all gathered around Ronan’s bed to watch the feed relaying to the thin tablet he held in his hands. 

“How long will it take?” Mr. Gray asked while Henry and Gansey marveled over the visual quality of the cameras.

After a moment of thought, Ronan shrugged. “Depends on where they are, I guess. The bugs should be able to locate Adam, but they still have to fly there. If they’ve taken him farther away, it’ll take longer.”

Mr. Gray checked his watch. “It takes time to get a new location set up. Even if they left immediately after we got away, they couldn’t have gotten too far.”

“But the bugs aren’t going to be faster than a car,” Henry pointed out, frowning. 

“I highly doubt Mathias will leave,” Mr. Gray said. He looked up from the screen to pin Ronan with a pointed look, leaving unspoken the knowledge that Mathias would be intent on capturing him again. Ronan just as pointedly ignored him. 

“Are the bugs like a homing beacon?” Blue asked, tilting her head at the screen. Beneath the three visual feeds, a small box displayed the word ‘Location’ along with a rotating loading icon. “They don’t seem to be going the same direction at all.” 

“It might be some form of direction finding,” Gansey suggested. “I’ve used it to seek out evidence of the ley line before. It uses triangulation to pinpoint location, so that might be why there are three bugs. More accurate that way.” 

“Sure,” Ronan said, not caring much about the technical side of things or particularly inclined to discuss it. He kept his eyes locked on the screen, watching as Henrietta flashed by in three vaguely familiar streams. 

They were interrupted suddenly by a knock at the door. A young woman wearing scrubs under a white coat stepped in, examining a metal clipboard. “Good morning, Mr. Lynch,” she said. “I’m Dr. McDowell.” 

Ronan said nothing, eying her warily. There was nothing suspicious about her whatsoever, from her braided brown hair to her plain sneakers, but he tensed all the same, disliking the newness of her. The way she said his name was perfectly normal but it jarred his senses all the same. 

“I was the doctor who operated on you last night,” Dr. McDowell clarified as she noticed Ronan’s reaction. She took note of the thin tablet in Ronan’s hands and furrowed her brow. “Your nurse didn’t mention that you’d been up very long.”

“He hasn’t,” Gansey rushed to say, accurately predicting that Ronan wouldn’t bother to respond. “He’s just – been through a lot, so, uh, we—” He paused, clearly unable to think of a good lie. 

“We were just about to call the nurse to come get you,” Mr. Gray inserted smoothly.

“It’s fine,” Dr. McDowell said, waving off the issue. “I just wanted to make sure I have a chance to speak with Mr. Lynch about the medical side of things before the police arrive.” 

Ronan could tell this wasn’t going to be a particularly fun conversation. His side still throbbed dully despite the drugs swimming through his system. He could vaguely remember the surgeon from the night before, though her scrub cap and mask hid all but her dark eyes. Still, he couldn’t quite will his muscles to relax. No matter what he did, some part of his brain kept warning him not to trust anyone. Not anymore. 

“If you all wouldn’t mind, it might be easier to step outside while I do a post-surgical exam,” Dr. McDowell continued, looking at Dr. Gray as though he was their keeper. Then she looked at Ronan. “Unless you’d like them to stay, Mr. Lynch?” 

The words grated at his ears. She was nothing like him, but Ronan couldn’t help but picturing Mathias snarling at him, words full of scorn and mock politeness.

He muttered, “Ronan.” 

“Excuse me?” Dr. McDowell asked.

“It’s _Ronan_ ,” he repeated, staring directly at her for the first time. His voice sounded cold. “Not Mr. Lynch. Ronan.” 

“Of course,” Dr. McDowell replied. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him, her easy amiability more reminiscent of Gansey than Mathias. But Ronan couldn’t shake the uneasiness.

He glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone else was feeling the same, but no one seemed thrown off. Even Mr. Gray was calm, ignoring the doctor entirely as he continued to monitor the tablet instead. Ronan wondered if he was going crazy. 

Dr. McDowell was still waiting for an answer. 

“Well, we’re his cheer team,” Henry suddenly said. He shot the doctor a distracting, campaign-ready grin, before turning to Ronan and saying, “Gotta keep our man company, don’t we, Ronan?” 

He winked at Ronan, expression light but sharp with understanding. 

“Yeah,” Ronan said, a rush of gratitude cutting through his lingering fear. “Yeah, they can stay.” 

Blue took his hand again while Gansey and Henry engaged the doctor, all smiles and boyish charm, and slowly Ronan felt his anxiety begin to ease. 

In the corner of his eye, the bugs flew on under Mr. Gray’s watchful gaze, still searching.

 

 

-

 

 

The next two hours passed in a whirl of visitors and questions. 

Ronan endured his talk with Dr. McDowell, who revealed that he had lost three pints of blood and gone through roughly five hours of surgery. Concerning the bullet wound, she said, “We’re monitoring your injury for any signs of infection, but the bullet was a through-and-through and it didn’t directly puncture any of your major organs. That is incredibly lucky.” 

“Yeah,” Ronan replied, tone deadpan. “Lucky. That’s exactly how I feel.” 

Dr. McDowell gazed evenly at him, her eyes sympathetic, until Ronan scowled and looked away. Unaffected, she continued outlining a detailed recovery process that essentially boiled down to doing nothing fun for at least a year. Ronan could feel Gansey’s eyes on him as he listened with restrained annoyance, making the entire ordeal feel like yet another Aglionby lecture. 

However, as soon as she was finished with her brief, Dr. McDowell called in a nurse to run Ronan through a series of post-op tests. The others were thankfully able to stay in the room for it, so Ronan was able to spend his time watching Mr. Gray for updates and relying on the others for any required conversation. It helped that he was still pretty high on pain meds, so the nurses didn’t seem too concerned about his poor responses. Despite this, Blue kept flicking him on the wrist and giving him narrow-eyed stares, making it clear that she saw through his obstinate ways. 

Ronan didn’t care. It may have been rude, but he couldn’t shake the fear that kept running through his veins with every new person. He knew it was stupid. They were in a hospital. All of these people were working to heal him, not plotting his capture. 

But Ronan had never been much for talking to strangers, and apparently a week with Mathias was enough to turn his general disinterest into outright distrust.

The police came after that, and they didn’t let Ronan have guests in the room while he gave his statement. Ronan remembered Mr. Gray’s comment about Mathias having a mole and spent the entire time glaring at them.

“Mr. Lynch,” one officer kept saying, clearly exasperated by Ronan’s recalcitrance, “We’re just trying to get more information to go on. We’re still looking for Mr. Parrish. Do you remember any road signs on your way to the first set of warehouses? Maybe a landmark?”

“Have you considered that they’ve probably moved somewhere else entirely?” Ronan asked flatly, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

“Of course we have, but we haven’t found any clues about where the second location might be, so any corroborating evidence from your testi—” began the second officer, but Ronan was done tolerating their endless circle of questions. His nerves felt shot, and his side throbbed fiercely. 

“You don’t need my fucking _testimony_ , either they’re still at that place or they’re not,” snapped Ronan. “And while you waste time bothering _me_ , those assholes _still have Adam,_ so why the fuck aren’t you out searching for _him_?”

“We have teams searching now—” 

“Oh _like hell you do—”_

The door opened, and Declan stepped in. His eyes pinned sharply on Ronan, expression tight in familiar frustration, but when he spoke, his words were directed elsewhere. 

“That’s it,” Declan said to the officers, his tone inviting no argument. “I think you’ve questioned Ronan enough for now.”

The first officer started, “We still need to review the—” but cut off at the look on Declan’s face. 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear,” snarled Declan, shades of their father flashing in his eyes. “Get the fuck out of this room before I throw you out.” 

It took less than a minute for the police officers to clear out, during which Ronan stared at his brother, torn between confusion and gratitude. Their relationship had grown by leaps and bounds compared to what it had been in high school, but that still generally only meant tolerating each other at church and on holidays.

Declan noticed Ronan’s look and rolled his eyes. Dismissively, he said, “They were asking you the same questions they’d already asked an hour ago. I didn’t feel like listening to you tear out your stitches by punching them.” 

Ronan stayed silent, though he settled back again his pillow with much less tension than he’d felt for the past few hours. He felt exhausted. His side was shooting spikes of pain through his body. He hadn’t been able to get more morphine before the police arrived, and now it seemed that any lingering effects from his earlier drugs were starting to wear off. 

“Have they found Adam yet?” Ronan asked. 

“Mr. Gray got a preliminary lock somewhere east of Henrietta. He took off and told Gansey to update him once the bugs send back a better location,” Declan answered. He glanced at the door and pulled out his phone. “Are you up to seeing everyone again? Matthew and Opal were asking. I sent most of them to grab something to eat, but I promised I’d let them know when you were done.” 

Ronan shrugged awkwardly, his movements thrown off by his injury. His heart panged as he thought of seeing Matthew and Opal again, but before he could say anything, Declan’s suit pocket buzzed and sounded with a familiar tone. Ronan’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the opening strains of Murder Squash, which he had chosen solely to bother Adam after he insisted on Ronan keeping his text sounds turned on. 

“Why do you have my phone?” Ronan asked. 

Declan froze, his stance growing wary for a split second before he adopted a cool mask. “I’m just holding onto it for now—” 

Ronan could spot the lie a mile away. 

“Bullshit,” he called out. Declan’s shoulders tensed in sharp contrast to his otherwise calm demeanor. “Give it to me.” 

“You don’t bother answering your phone on a _normal_ day, why the fuck do you want it now?”

“Give me my phone, Declan,” Ronan repeated, growing more confident that Declan was trying to keep something from him. He stretched out a hand as far as his taxed body would allow.

“No,” Declan flatly replied. 

“I said _give it to me_ , Declan.” 

“And I said _no,_ Ronan.” 

“It’s _my_ fucking phone, Declan, I swear to God—!” 

“ _Fine_ ,” Declan snapped, digging in his pocket and practically throwing Ronan’s phone at him. He looked away, clearly torn by his decision and hating it. Irritably, he added, “Don’t fucking blame me for what you find.”

Ronan barely heard him, staring down at the screen.

There was a new message from an unknown number. It was short enough that Ronan didn’t have to unlock the phone to read it. 

_You have until midnight before I find out how deep Daddy’s scars go_. 

Ronan could feel his face going white, stomach plummeting. 

Beside him, Declan made a frustrated noise and reached out, muttering, “I knew I shouldn’t have—” but Ronan lashed out and smacked his hand away. 

He unlocked the phone and looked at his text messages. Along with numerous messages from his friends and family, all varying degrees of worried, he had five messages from the same unknown number. 

Fingers trembling, Ronan clicked on the thread. 

The first message was just a picture, sent at 2:45 that morning.

The photo showed Adam kneeling on a dark carpet while a fist in his hair forcefully pulled his head back. He was still shirtless, but sometime in the night he had acquired some new bruises along his ribs, making his right side look distinctly malformed. A trickle of blood dripped from his split lip, and the rest of his face looked like he’d lost a few rounds with a bat. Adam wasn’t looking at the camera, eyes distant and unfocused, but his jaw was tight with pain. 

The next message simply read: _Forget something?_

Ronan’s stomach rolled, churning with desperate fear. 

The following messages were along a similar vein as the last, all increasingly vicious threats against Adam unless Ronan gave himself up. He could barely breathe, staring at stark words and silently panicking at the implications. He had no idea what time it was. How soon was midnight? How long did Adam have before they started doing something even worse? How long before—? 

The cell phone was snatched from his hands, and Ronan looked sharply up at Declan. His brother looked furious. Ronan just stared at his phone, wishing he’d taken note of the time. 

“I don’t know what the _fuck_ I was thinking, you shouldn’t—,” Declan muttered, shaking his head and stuffing the phone back in the pocket of his suit, movements tight with irritation. “Don’t pay attention to that shit.”

“What time is it?” Ronan asked. His voice sounded small.

“Ronan, he’s just saying that stuff to get into your head—” 

“What _time_ is it?” growled Ronan, words exploding out in terrified fury. Declan stepped back, his expression growing even more concerned, but Ronan couldn’t be bothered to care what his brother thought anymore. Mathias still had Adam. He was going to hurt him and Ronan could stop it. He could go to him right now and give Adam a few more hours, a few more days, _anything_ — 

“It’s just past eight,” Declan replied. His tone was gentler than Ronan could remember in recent years, though his eyes stayed angry. “Mr. Gray’s already gone to find him, Ronan. We have time.” 

“I need the tablet,” Ronan said. He locked eyes with Declan, barely able to keep himself from yelling and sending everything in reach crashing to the floor. His shoulders shook with the effort. 

Declan stared back with knowing eyes. Without another word, he simply replied, “I’ll get Gansey.”

 

 

-

 

 

As it turned out, Gansey hadn’t bothered to get food. Scarcely one minute after Declan left to get him, Gansey stormed back into the room, holding the tablet in one hand and the cell phone in the other, looking aggrieved. Over his shoulder, he was snapping at Declan, “—how you could let him _see_ those, are you completely insane?” 

“It’s _his_ phone,” Declan defended, though he looked mostly annoyed at himself. 

“What the fuck gives you the right to keep them from me?” Ronan cut in, glaring at Gansey. “He’s trying to get to _me_ , Gansey. How I can protect Adam if I don’t even know about the threats?” 

“He’s just trying to get into your head,” Gansey protested, coming to stand alongside Ronan’s bed. “That’s what Mr. Gray said, and—” 

“ _Fuck_ whatever Mr. Gray said,” Ronan snarled. “You think I don’t know that he’s trying to mess with me? Of course he’s trying to get into my head. He’s been doing that all fucking week! It’s not a _game_ , Gansey. He’s serious. He’s already hurt Adam, and he’s going to kill him if I don’t go back. ” 

“And what, we should just let you?” Gansey replied, sounding distraught. He ran a hand through his hair, looking overwhelmed and exhausted. It had been a long time since Ronan had seen him in such a state. Gansey stared down at the cell phone in his hands, eyes weary behind his glasses, and began, “I just—” before trailing off. 

“What?” Ronan asked.

Gansey worried at his lower lip, brow knitted in concern. He didn’t look up from the cell phone, though the screen had gone dark. He asked, “What did he even mean? That last message, the thing he said about scars?” 

Ronan’s stomach twisted, feeling his eyes grow cold. “Don’t ask.”

“But—” 

“Gansey,” Ronan said tightly, staring him straight in the eyes. Gansey looked pale and concerned, gripping the cell phone and tablet tightly. By the window, Declan watched the exchange with a dark look on his face, the tension in his shoulders the only indication of his own thoughts. Ronan continued with staccato sharpness, “Leave. It. Alone.” 

Gansey took a long breath, clearly debating with himself on pushing for more information. Finally, he simply asked, “Do you think we should respond?” 

“I think you should just give me the fucking tablet,” Ronan said, still annoyed but unwilling to continue the conversation. He didn’t want to talk about Mathias’ threats toward Adam. He wasn’t sure if there was a way to truly impart how terrifying they really were, not when they were distilled by text and parceled out over five short messages. Gansey was clearly worried, but Gansey hadn’t been trapped in a room with blood smeared on his face while Adam sobbed in a corner. Gansey hadn’t seen the easy way Mathias shot Machete, or observed the vicious gleam in Mathias’ eyes when he threatened to have his guards rape Adam. Gansey didn’t _know_ , not the way Ronan did.

And Ronan didn’t want to tell him. He wasn’t sure Gansey could handle it all. Ronan was barely dealing with it now. He felt like he was going to fall to pieces just from keeping his panic at bay. His side stung every time he breathed, making Ronan feel like he was poised on the edge of a precipice, ready to crumble at any additional strain. 

Swallowing down the panic and the pain, Ronan held out his hands, forcefully keeping his expression locked in a stony glare. Gansey eyed him for a moment, expression unreadable, but handed over the tablet without another word. After a moment of hesitation, he held out Ronan’s cell phone for Declan, who stepped forward to take it back. 

The three video screens on the tablet were all focused around a rundown motel. It was a single-floor stretch of doorways, with dingy white walls and a patchy roof. The nearby sign read “STARLIGHT MOTEL” in florescent lighting, though the first two letters were burnt out. A few cars were clustered toward the entrance, though the bugs seemed to have focused on the pair of black sedans parked at the end of the strip, tucked around the corner from the very last room. 

Ronan could see Fuckface and Dipshit leaning against the doorway of the end room, smoking cigarettes. The dirty copper plaque on the door read ‘119’. 

“I’ve already sent Mr. Gray the updated location,” Gansey said quietly. “We still haven’t seen Adam directly, but the bugs haven’t moved in twenty minutes.” 

“That’s them,” Ronan said. He glared at the screen. “How far out is Mr. Gray?” 

“I’ll ask,” said Gansey, pulling out his own phone from his pocket.

While he typed out a message, Ronan tapped on the video window for the bug closest to the door with the vague idea of getting it to focus closer on the guards. A text box appeared with a heading reading: INSTRUCTIONS.

Ronan frowned. His memories of developing the system were hazy, as it was with many of his dream things, but he clicked on the text box nonetheless. A digital keyboard appeared, and Ronan typed in: ‘Fly closer to room 119.’ 

The image started focusing in on the door to the hotel room as the bug obeyed Ronan’s order. The other two video feeds stayed the same, but the first was now perched just above the room door. Ronan could see the tops of Fuckface and Dipshit’s heads a few feet below. 

“He’s nearly there,” Gansey said, looking up from his phone. “What did you do?” 

“I’m trying to get a better vantage point,” Ronan replied.

Now that the bug was closer, Ronan realized that it was able to relay audio as well. He heard soft mumbling as Dipshit said something to Fuckface, and quickly searched for the volume indicator on that particular feed. 

Once he turned it up, the words sharpened into clarity. 

“—just sitting here holding our dicks?” Dipshit said, taking a drag of his cigarette and making a face. “I mean, seriously, this is a shit show if I’ve ever seen one.”

Fuckface shrugged. “Don’t say that too loudly. He’ll start screaming about you being a rat.”

“I wish I was,” Dipshit muttered, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, Aaron, when you said you had a guard job for me, I thought you meant following around some paranoid rich dude, not this bullshit.” He threw his spent cigarette on the ground, grinding the remaining embers with the toe of his shoe. “We get caught with this, it’s 20 years at least. Have you seen the news lately? That Congresswoman’s out for blood.” 

Fuckface didn’t respond, his face going blank. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly, staring off into the distance. Flicking the remaining bud away, he finally said, “Just keep your goddamned mouth shut, Nate.” 

He turned back to the door without another word, having apparently spent his speaking quota for the day. Dipshit made a rude gesture at his back, clearly wanting to argue the point, but settled back against the wall to keep watch instead. 

Thinking quickly, Ronan typed a new instruction to the bug: ‘Go into the room. Stay out of sight.’

As Fuckface opened the door, the nearby bug zipped forward, staying flush against the edge of the ceiling. It was only a bit larger than a fly, so Ronan didn’t expect it to be noticed, but he was still relieved when Fuckface didn’t show any reaction. The bug flew up to the corner of the ceiling, giving Ronan, Gansey, and Declan a clear view of the room. 

There were two double beds side by side in the small, square room, facing an old blocky television. Fat Fuck and Asshole sat on the beds, watching some sort of action movie. The room itself was dimly lit, surviving on two bedside lamps and the circle of light emanating from the bathroom, which was along the back wall but at a poor angle for the bug to see into. Mathias stood in the alcove just outside the bathroom door, leaning against the full-length mirror and glaring at his cell phone like it cursed him. 

As Fuckface walked in, Mathias threw the cell phone on the floor, where it bounced on dark carpet. “That little fucker still hasn’t replied.” 

Asshole shrugged, not looking away from the television. “Maybe he’s still unconscious. He did get shot.” 

“No, he’s read them,” Mathias said, glaring at the phone. “He’s just not bothering to say anything. I guess he doesn’t actually give a fuck about _you_!”

The last sentence was shouted in the direction of the bathroom. 

Ronan felt his breath catch in his throat. He double-clicked on the bug’s visual feed and typed in: ‘Position yourself to see into the bathroom.’ 

As the bug moved, a knock at the door startled Ronan, Gansey, and Declan away from their intent focus on the screen. They all looked up, startled, as one of the nurses poked his head in. “Mr. Lynch?” the man said, clearly having not gotten the memo about calling Ronan by his given name. “I noticed you hadn’t gotten your next dose of medication—” 

“Get the fuck out,” Ronan snapped, turning back to the screen. The brief distraction from the screen was enough to make his wound throb anew, the sudden pain momentarily overwhelming, and Ronan forced himself not to wince. 

As he watched the bug move carefully into position on the screen, Ronan sensed Gansey and Declan engaging in a familiar, silent conversation of how to deal with him. Finally, Declan sighed and said, “Please come back in half an hour, sir. Ronan isn’t fit for human interaction at the moment.” 

The nurse awkwardly backed out of the room. Gansey asked Declan, “Would you be able to watch the door? Mr. Gray just messaged me that he’s arrived, and I don’t imagine this is the kind of thing we need people walking in on.” 

Declan sighed, but didn’t bother to argue as he moved toward the door. 

Gansey looked over at Ronan while the bug crept across the wall. Quietly, he said, “You really should take your medicine, though.” 

“Pass.” 

“Seriously, Ronan, you _got shot_ —” 

“I’ll kick you out too, Dick,” Ronan immediately replied, willfully ignoring the throbbing in his side.

Gansey glared at him. “I’d like to see you try, Lynch.” 

The bravado in his tone made Ronan want to grin, but the tight worry in his stomach kept his expression taut. He watched as the feed on the tablet slowly rotated its view. 

Shortly after Declan stepped out, the door clicked open again, and Ronan readied a curse on his tongue before he saw Blue and Henry duck in. He scowled and turned back to the screen without saying a word. The other three engaged in a brief conversation, but Ronan tuned them out as the bug finally moved in a good position to see into the bathroom.

“Oh my god,” Blue whispered as she caught sight of the new perspective. 

The bathroom was sparsely decorated, white walls framing a tiny square of little more than a small sink, a toilet, and a bathtub. Adam sat inside the tub, his arms folded behind his back and legs bent in front of him, both bound with thick wraps of duct tape. Another strip of tape covered his mouth, rendering him silent. Adam stared blankly at the bathroom wall, eyes exhausted and head sagging. Ronan couldn’t tell if he was badly hurt or just bored, though he worried it was probably both. 

“What’d they do to him?” Henry asked, horrified as he saw the stark red welts on Adam’s back. Gansey seemed to be struck silent, clearly appalled by the scene. 

“Stop fucking talking,” Ronan snapped, annoyed by their pointless pity. He knew exactly how they felt, and yet rage boiled in his stomach, exacerbated by the increasingly sharp pain at his side. He felt entirely unable to handle this situation. Ronan gritted his teeth and forced himself to breathe before asking Gansey, “Where’s Mr. Gray?”

“I have him on speaker phone,” Gansey replied as he manipulated the phone to do just that, holding it up so they could all hear clearly. 

Mr. Gray’s voice was tinny over the connection. “I’m waiting by the trees at the west side of the parking lot,” he said. Ronan looked but didn’t see anything but shadows. “What room are they in?” 

“Room 119,” Gansey replied. “There’s a guard out front right now.” 

“Which one?” 

“It’s Dipshit,” Ronan answered. 

There was a brief pause before Mr. Gray said, “That’s less helpful than you seem to think it is. Do you have his real name?” 

“Uh,” Ronan said, trying to think. “Nate, I think?” 

Mr. Gray started to say something else, but Blue shushed him quickly as they heard something come over the speakers from the bug in the room. 

“What’s going on?” Mr. Gray interrupted after a few moments of waiting. 

“Mathias just told one of them to get some food. He’s heading outside now.” 

“Which one?” 

“Aaron,” Ronan replied, though the correct name sat awkwardly on his tongue. “He looks like the end result of G.I. Joe fucking The Rock, you can’t miss him.” 

“He’s kind of heading your way, actually,” Blue added. “At least, I think so. We can’t actually see you.” 

“Okay,” Mr. Gray said, and Ronan could hear rustling on the other end of the line as he began to move. He added, “Have you been able to see inside the room?”

“There are four guards including Nate and Aaron,” Gansey answered. “Five in total, including Mathias. They have Adam tied up in the bathroom.” 

“Good,” Mr. Gray replied. “I’m hanging up now.”

The connection with Mr. Gray suddenly cut out.

“Rude,” Henry declared, glaring at the phone. Gansey made a face and set it down, leaning in closer to stare at the screen instead. 

Ronan scowled and double-clicked on one of the outside feeds, instructing it to fly closer to Mr. Gray and turning the audio on. Even though they couldn’t see him, the bug started moving, flying around the corner of the motel toward the dark corner of the parking lot. The only cars were the two black sedans, parked just outside the glow from the streetlight. 

It was difficult to see anything with only the faint glow of moonlight highlighting the area. Still, Ronan and the rest watched with rapt anticipation as the bug zeroed in on Fuckface’s path toward the cars. 

Without warning, Mr. Gray stepped from behind one of the cars, appearing so quickly that Ronan initially thought it was a trick of the light. 

Fuckface jerked, clearly startled by his sudden presence. “The fuck—?” he began.

“Aaron,” Mr. Gray greeted coldly. 

Ronan wasn’t sure what he expected Fuckface to do – shout? Start shooting? – but he was shocked when Fuckface’s response was to roll his eyes and mutter, “Gray.” 

_Oh_ , Ronan thought, staring at the screen in surprise. _He’s the rat_. 

From the expressions on everyone’s face, Mr. Gray had kept that knowledge secret, though logically it made sense that one of the guards must have leaked the information. Ronan’s anger warred with the gratitude that threatened to well up, and he reminded himself how long Fuckface had waited to stop Adam’s torture. _Fuck that guy_. 

“Your boss has something of mine,” Mr. Gray said. 

“The kid’s still alive,” Fuckface said. He narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning to do?” 

“What I do best.”

Even through the scratchy audio feed, Ronan could hear the icy, unspoken promise in Mr. Gray’s voice. From the way Fuckface stepped back, suddenly uncertain, he could hear it, too. 

“Okay,” Fuckface replied. “Okay. Give me five minutes.” 

“Why should I?” Mr. Gray asked. His face was cold and unsmiling.

“Look, I just need to get Nate out of there, man,” Fuckface said. “I got him into this shit, I’m not getting him killed for it.” 

Mr. Gray stared at him with unsympathetic eyes. 

Then, expression unchanging, he said, “You have two minutes.”

Fuckface turned on a dime, heading back the way he came.

Ronan didn’t know how Fuckface got Dipshit to leave. The bug watching the door to the room was too far away to pick up audio, but if he was being honest, Ronan didn’t really care, either. All that mattered now was Adam. 

As Dipshit stalked over to the parked cars – Mr. Gray hidden away yet again – Ronan could only focus on the anxiety growing in his stomach, warring with the pain in his side for intensity as he waited for the showdown about to happen. The bug was hovering beside Mr. Gray, watching silently as the minutes ticked by. Ronan felt sick with anticipation. 

Finally, as the tail lights from Dipshit’s car peeled out of the parking lot, Mr. Gray moved. The bug followed. 

He approached the door silently, his gun in hand. 

Fuckface had replaced Dipshit as guard, but at Mr. Gray’s approach, he let his shoulders slump. He held out a hand, signaling for Mr. Gray to pause, and then turned to swipe the key card. 

The door opened.

And all hell broke loose. 

It took maybe ten seconds, but to Ronan it felt like an eternity. Mr. Gray moved without hesitation, shooting Asshole and Fat Fuck in succession as they sat on the beds. He laid Asshole out with one shot, catching him through the eye, but Fat Fuck took three before he fell to the ground, unmoving. The repeated blasts from the guns overwhelmed the audio on the tablet, sounding like distorted screeches. 

Watching from two angles, Ronan saw Mathias stumble back in surprise at the sudden attack. Unfortunately, he was quick on the uptake, and pulled his gun from a holster at his side, shooting back at Mr. Gray and making him duck away. For a second, Ronan thought they would get stuck in a shootout, but Mathias abruptly doubled back and went for the bathroom, gun held ready.

Ronan’s heart froze in his chest. 

At the doorway to the bathroom, Mathias aimed his gun at Adam. 

It felt like the world was crumbling around him. At his side, Blue gasped, “No!” while Gansey grabbed Ronan’s arm, but all Ronan could see was Adam’s wide eyes staring at Mathias as he pulled the trigger. 

Mr. Gray crashed into Mathias, forcing the shot wide. Adam jerked back, and Ronan couldn’t tell if he’d been hit through the tangled fighting between Mathias and Mr. Gray. Each second felt like an hour as Mr. Gray knocked Mathias’ gun away and spun him around. Mathias scrambled to fight back, but he was barely able to get a hand up before Mr. Gray shot him square between the eyes. 

Red liquid sprayed across the bathroom. Mathias’ body crumpled, falling forward and landing in an unmoving heap. 

Mr. Gray stepped over him, carefully avoiding the blood spatter. Ronan stared with baited breath until Adam finally came into view. He was covered in bits of blood and sinew, staring with horrified eyes and clearly panicking, but he was alive. He was sitting up and breathing and fighting with his restraints, but he was _alive_ and Ronan nearly started to sob as he felt the air come back into his lungs. 

Gansey and Blue were hugging and Henry clapped him victoriously on the shoulder, but Ronan just stared at the screen in shocked disbelief that it was over. 

It was over.

He slumped back against his bed, suddenly feeling all the pain and exhaustion he’d forced away in his desperate focus on Adam. The room swam around him, and Ronan couldn’t tell if he was crying or dizzy. Probably both. 

Ronan closed his eyes as Gansey leaned over him, eyes wide in concern. 

It was over.

He let himself sleep.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Murder, on-screen character death, severe gun-related violence, hostage situations, torture, threats of violence, threats of rape, hospitals, swearing, this is pretty much just a really intense chapter (though arguably less awful than the last two? maybe?)
> 
> Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up! I got knocked on my butt by a gross illness going around my work (it took out all of my roommates too), but I'm back now. On the plus side, you guys get an extra long chapter this time, so yay?
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Adam is ~finally~ safe. I hope every felt as satisfied as I did by Mathias' (and company) super-needed death. That was definitely a scene I was happy to write. Please let me know in the comments how you felt about this chapter! I always enjoy hearing from you guys~! :D
> 
> Only one more chapter left after this, and I sent it off to my wonderful beta this morning :) On which note, many thanks to @Maliciousways, ~especially~ for this chapter, because she has experience in a medical facility and I do not, so she helped make this much more readable than I initially wrote it. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

The room was quiet when Ronan woke again. 

“Wake up,” a small voice said. 

Ronan moved his head away from the sound, trying to sink back into the heavy weight of sleep. His dreams had been nothing more than a blanket of comforting darkness, no horrors to be found. A large part of him desperately longed to return. 

“ _Kerah_ ,” the voice whined, exasperated. “Come on.” 

A finger poked him in the shoulder. He made a face. 

“I know you’re awake, Kerah,” she added, and Ronan finally gave up and opened his eyes to see Opal’s face above his, leaning heavily on the side of his bed. 

Despite the lethargy hampering every movement, Ronan managed a small smile. “Hey brat,” he greeted, voice soft and scratchy from disuse. 

“Hey,” Opal replied, grinning brilliantly. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, like someone had tried to comb it and given up halfway through. She held onto his hand tightly. “They said you’d be asleep a long time because you were really hurt.”

Ronan frowned, eyes darting around the small hospital room. The light outside the window was weak and dim. “What time is it?” 

“Almost dinnertime. It’s just Declan and me here right now, because Aunt Maura made everyone else go home and rest for a bit. They’re all going to come back tonight, though,” Opal replied. As always, she spoke with strangely serious tone for someone who looked no older than eight years old. “You’ve been sleeping for nearly a day.” 

“What?” Ronan asked, eyes growing wide. “But what about—” 

“Adam?” Opal guessed. 

Panic lined his heart, stomach twisting, as Ronan remembered the last time he’d woken up here. He found himself clinging to desperate hope as he replied, “Yeah.” 

“He’s here, too,” Opal said, patting his hand like she knew what he was feeling. Hell, maybe she did. “Declan is staying with him. He’s sleeping now, though. He had to talk to a bunch of people and take a lot of tests, so I only got to talk to him for a little bit.” 

Relief washed through him like cool water. Ronan sighed as he felt himself relax, suddenly aware of how tense he had become. Quietly, he murmured, “Thank fuck.” 

“He was really mad that you made yourself pass out,” Opal added, a hint of childish glee in her voice. She had always enjoyed being able to tattle on either one of them. “He called you a bad word.” 

Ronan made a face at her. “Since when do you say ‘bad word’?” 

“Aunt Maura said I shouldn’t swear so much because it’s impolite,” Opal said, shrugging. 

Ronan scoffed. “Well, that’s fucking stupid.” 

“That’s what I said, and then Aunt Maura made me sit in the corner.” 

Ronan rolled his eyes, a fond grin forming at the corners of his mouth. Despite the good humor, he felt weirdly numb at the core of his thoughts, like a thin veneer of happiness was covering a cold reality. It felt like he was clinging desperately to relief while in the back of his mind, Ronan had to remind himself repeatedly that it really was over. 

The drugs didn’t help. Restless anxiety twisted his stomach in knots while his limbs lay heavily on the bed, every movement captured in slow motion. The more he tried to fight it, the worse the discordant feelings became. 

Ronan forced himself to breathe, closing his eyes. 

Small fingers threaded through his, and Ronan opened his eyes to see Opal staring up at him with solemn eyes. 

“Everyone was really worried about both of you when you were gone,” she said. “They wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened, but they said it was really scary. And you and Adam got really hurt.” 

Ronan looked down, a half-smile twitching at his lips as he recognized Opal trying to be comforting. It didn’t come naturally to her, but sincerity did, and Ronan could tell she was helping as best she could. He tightened his grip on her hand, admitting, “It was scary.” 

“Adam always says that scary memories don’t have to hurt you,” Opal replied. She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed the back of it. “I guess that’s true. Even if you’re the Greywaren.” 

Ronan stared at their clasped hands. Her fingers were small and pale against his. 

“That’s a nice thought,” Ronan said, tone wry and disbelieving. He stared at her with deadpan eyes, joking, “You’d think he’d know better than that.” 

“I think he just wanted me to go back to sleep,” Opal replied, shrugging as if to say, _he’d tried_ , and Ronan grinned, feeling his grasp on relief grow marginally stronger.

“Well,” he murmured. “I guess we’ll see.”

 

 

-

 

 

By the time the hospital kicked out visitors for the evening, Ronan had nearly worked himself back into an anxious mess. 

“Well, why the hell can’t I go see _him_ , then?” Ronan snapped, lashing out after Gansey made the mistake of reminding Ronan that Adam was still sleeping. The drugs dimmed his grasp on reality, making him feel like his sharp edges had all been sanded down. However, as everyone was quickly learning, Ronan’s anger was not easily diminished. 

Gansey looked torn, but ultimately didn’t cave. “Ronan, we’re not going to spring you from your _hospital room_ so you can go wake up Adam. I asked, and they said he was getting released tomorrow. I promise, he will come see you.” 

Ronan snarled at him, unsure how to properly express how unsettled he felt. Everyone else had been down to see Adam and came back with optimistic reports of his recovery, smiles not bright enough to mask worried eyes. Declan had taken Matthew and Opal back home to get food, leaving Ronan in the increasingly frustrated care of Gansey, Blue, and Henry. For a while, the three had rotated to ensure that someone was with Adam as well, but it was nearing the end of the evening and Adam was still out. 

Ronan wasn’t stupid. He knew that Adam was recovering. His injuries had looked terrible but hadn’t been life threatening, so there was no reason for Ronan to panic about not personally checking on him. But he couldn’t shake the underlying tremor in his thoughts that looked around the room and stayed focused on Adam’s absence. Part of him felt like he was still trapped back in the warehouse, staring at the blank walls and avoiding the blood stained floor, counting down the minutes until he could see Adam again. Every time he closed his eyes, a tiny part of his mind wondered, _am I going to wake up from the dream now?_

His darkest nightmares used to be about avian monsters stalking him in the night. Ronan was pretty sure his terror would now be derived from white walls and florescent lights. 

He still wasn’t entirely convinced he was awake. 

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s being released tomorrow,” Ronan muttered, glaring bitterly at Gansey, who stared wearily back, having weathered Ronan’s anger many times before. “Why the fuck can’t I just—”

“Oh, god! Just stop!” Blue interrupted, infinitely less patient than Gansey. “Look, I get it, you’re freaking out. _We understand_. But we’re not going to commandeer a wheelchair and bring you down three floors – possibly tearing your stitches and risking infection and making you get sepsis and _die_ – just because you act like an asshole about it, so can you just accept that we’re trying to be supportive here? Dr. McDowell’s the one who said you need to stay in the room.” 

“Because you _kinda_ made yourself pass out yesterday,” Henry added, unhelpfully. 

Ronan scowled at them both. 

Gansey, ever a proponent of peace, looked nervously between Blue and Ronan. When neither of them seemed willing to prolong the argument, he said, “We’re coming back early tomorrow morning to help Adam check out, and then I promise we’ll be coming straight up here.” 

Ronan glared down at his hands. He didn’t want to keep fighting, not when he was already trying to balance the exhausting drugs in his system with the rolling anxiety in his stomach, but the anger sat heavy on his heart, rendering him immovable. He felt like he was in high school again, sitting and seething and stuck in an endless cycle of fury. Rather than make him loopy and agreeable, the painkillers just dulled his reactions; the anxiety and fear still lingered beneath the surface, frustrating him endlessly like a persistent itch.

When the end of visiting hours arrived and a nurse stopped by to usher his friends out of the room, Ronan very nearly stayed insolent. He could feel Gansey watching him. He knew without looking that Blue was glaring and Henry was rolling his eyes, but it was Gansey’s stare that hit the hardest. 

Ronan looked up and managed a small, two-fingered wave. “I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow or whatever,” he muttered. It was the least angry goodbye he could muster, and he looked away again before he saw their reactions.

After visiting hours, Ronan suffered through his end-of-day tests with as much patience as he could muster. They were performed by the one nurse who hadn’t thrown up her hands and given up at Ronan’s continued belligerence, a broad-shouldered, no-nonsense woman named Bria. The first time Ronan snarled at her, she snapped right back, “Kid, you either listen to me or you don’t. I don’t have the energy to deal with your bullshit, so if you’re gonna act like a child the entire time, let me know now.” 

Ronan was pretty sure her supervisors would have been appalled at her language alone, much less the insulting tone, and that fact appealed to him so much that he backed off. 

He tried to sleep after the nurses’ checks, lying in his dark room and listening to the muffled sound of night rounds from outside his closed door. However, despite the fresh round of pain meds, sleep proved elusive. Insomnia came too easily when the alternative was to risk dreaming of screams and gunshots. Ronan didn’t trust his mind not to revisit the horror of the past week now that he was out of the warehouse. Even when he tried, Ronan couldn’t force himself to relax.

In the dark of the night, Ronan could admit he was terrified. The problem wasn’t just his lingering fear from being kidnapped, though that definitely exacerbated the issue. Rather, Ronan’s biggest worries focused on his dreams. It was much harder to feel safe when any night’s sleep could bring back monsters, now that his control had been shattered. He pictured a night horror tearing apart the hospital room and nearly started shaking. It felt just like high school again.

Exhausted though he was, it was nearly two in the morning before Ronan was able to settle into a doze, still conscious enough to prevent any dreaming. He tried to see if he could slip back into the comforting void he’d fallen into before, leaving his dreams behind, but before he could make a more pointed attempt, the door to his room opened. 

Ronan blinked awake, eyes slitting open to see Adam standing in the crescent of light from the hallway. He wore sweatpants and a loose-fitting hospital shirt that hung awkwardly off his shoulders. Adam ducked in the room and closed the door quietly, glancing out the rectangular window to ensure he hadn’t been seen. 

Then he looked back at Ronan. 

“Hey,” Adam greeted, voice low and quiet.

“Hey,” Ronan repeated slowly, senses still dulled by the drugs. His voice sounded stiff and awkward to his ears, like words had no place in his mouth. Adam didn’t seem to notice.

The bruises on Adam’s face were dark shadows in the dim light, and his ill-fitting shirt hid most of his other injuries, but Ronan’s eyes latched on the thick cast holding his right hand immobile. It was bright purple. Adam followed Ronan’s gaze and grinned sheepishly, explaining, “Opal was visiting when they asked what color I wanted.” 

“Sounds about right,” Ronan replied, offering a brief grin.

They fell silent, staring at each other without moving. Ronan felt overwhelmed, like all the emotions he’d been bottling up for the past week were colliding at the same time, and he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to cry or scream or cheer. He just stared at Adam – who was hurt but still standing, strong and defiant, watching Ronan with equal intensity – and let himself drown in the mess of emotions. The entire moment felt hazy and unreal, and Ronan was only half-convinced it was due to the pain meds. 

Adam broke the stare by walking over to the bed and grabbing Ronan’s hand with his uninjured one, intertwining their fingers together and pulling their clasped hands to his heart. Quietly, he said, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

Feeling like a rock was lodged in his throat, Ronan tightened his grip on Adam’s hand. He tried to respond, but found himself looking away instead, feeling choked by the rush of relief flooding his senses. His eyes burned as he thought back on everything and how long it seemed, every little slight or injury, every moment of terror. He felt gutted. 

_It’s over_ , he thought, clenching his eyes and pulling Adam’s hand back to his chest. He didn’t know how to show that he was struggling, but Adam didn’t push. Ronan could feel him settling down on the chair Gansey had vacated by Ronan’s bed, letting Ronan hold his hand in silence. 

It took a minute before Ronan was able to calm himself. When he looked back up, Adam was watching him, eyes soft and knowing. 

“Gansey said you were recovering,” Adam said. “How bad is it?” 

Ronan shrugged. He barely trusted himself to speak, but he owed Adam that much, so he managed, “It fucking hurts. They have me on a lot of drugs.” 

Adam’s mouth quirked in a half smile, apparently amused by Ronan’s blunt phrasing. He looked down at their clasped hands, now resting on the edge of the bed. He said, “I… I knew you had gotten shot, back at the warehouse, but they wouldn’t tell me anything and I just—” 

Adam cut off sharply. When he looked back up at Ronan, his eyes were red and his brow knitted as he clearly tried to control his reactions. The sight was enough to make Ronan’s own eyes burn, and he blinked away sudden tears as latent fear and worry built up like tidal waves in his heart. Feeling stuck by a need for equal honesty, Ronan replied, “I woke up in the hospital and nearly had a panic attack when they told me you weren’t here.” 

He pulled Adam’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of his palm. Ronan wanted to kiss his mouth, but Adam had stitches across his lip and bruises along his jaw, rendering it a poor option. He simply held Adam’s hand for a moment, willing up his courage, and asked, “What happened?” 

He didn’t elaborate on his question, but by the way Adam’s eyes darkened, Ronan knew he didn’t need to. 

Adam exhaled long and slow, jaw tightening. His face went carefully blank. He was quiet for so long that Ronan almost interrupted to take back his question, not wanting to ruin their reunion. But just as Ronan opened his mouth, Adam said, “About what you’d expect. They forced me into a car and we drove out to some garage at first, so they could figure out what to do. Mathias wanted me to tell them who helped you, but I said I didn’t know, so he got mad about that. At some point, someone told him you were in the hospital, so he started focusing on trying to get you back.” 

He fell silent, nervously working his lower lip, and eventually continued, “I don’t remember a lot of what happened after that. It’s all kind of a blur. The doctors said I have a concussion.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” Ronan asked, stomach twisting as he recalled Adam staring listlessly at the wall on the video feed. 

“Yeah, hopefully,” Adam replied. “It’s mostly just a headache now.” 

“And everything else?” Ronan added, glancing at Adam’s cast and bruises in one sweep. 

Adam shrugged one shoulder, his movements slow and restricted. “I have two broken ribs. Lots of bruises. A couple of the marks on my back might scar, but they don’t know for sure.” He held up his cast and added, “And of course, my hand is kind of messed up. The doctors had to re-break the bones so they’d set correctly, but they knocked me out for that.” 

Adam discussed his injuries in a flat, emotionless tone, almost like he was issuing a report, but Ronan took every wound like a knife to the stomach. He looked away, unable to bear the sight of red peeking from underneath Adam’s too-big scrub top, or the tiny stitches that linked his split lip back together. Adam hadn’t discussed how he felt, but Ronan could imagine all too easily how terrified he must have been, alone and trapped with people who couldn’t care less whether you lived or died. Guilt began to boil in his gut once more, the familiar sting making him wince.

“Hey, _stop_ ,” Adam said, tightening his grip on Ronan’s hand and pulling him back to the present. “I know what you’re doing. Stop it. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“They only tortured you to get at _me_ , Adam,” Ronan protested. His voice was raw, ripped to shreds by his anger and regret, and the drugs only made his reaction hit harder. “This entire thing, it was because of my stupid dream bullshit—” 

“That doesn’t make it your fault,” Adam interrupted. He locked eyes with Ronan, his eyes dark with determination. “And you got hurt way worse than me from trying to rescue me, so if you get to blame yourself, so do I.” 

Ronan made a face. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” 

“Neither does feeling guilty for other people doing bad shit, and yet here we are,” Adam said in return. He offered a smirk when Ronan shot him an irritated scowl, but instead of pushing his advantage, Adam said, “The doctors already sent someone to talk to me about counseling or whatever, so I got the ‘don’t blame yourself 101’ earlier this morning.” 

“Really?” Ronan asked, feeling a bit dizzy as he tried to follow the change in topic. “No one’s come and talked to me.” 

“From what I’ve heard, that’s because you’re basically the worst patient known to mankind,” Adam said, raising an eyebrow. “I overheard a couple nurses calling you Satan.” 

“Lucifer was a very complicated angel, okay?” Ronan joked, and was rewarded by Adam’s grin, though he ducked his head in an attempt to hide it. “I’m sure they’re telling Declan all this crap anyway. He’s just waiting until I’m not drugged up and in public before forcing it all on me.” 

“And you say Declan doesn’t understand you,” Adam mocked. He laughed when Ronan shot him an annoyed glare. 

It was ridiculous how much of a relief it was to just be talking like normal, exchanging fond looks and pointed barbs. It still felt more like a dream than reality, just the two of them holding hands and sitting together in the dim light. The desperate fear that had defined the past week was still fresh in the mind, but Ronan found his strength solidifying in the light of Adam’s presence. 

The painkillers softened his pain and numbed his reactions, but for the first time since coming to the hospital, Ronan felt the fear momentarily slip away. It was a welcome relief. 

However, before anything more could be said, Ronan’s door opened. They both looked up to see Bria, who looked haggard from the night shift and entirely unamused. 

“What the fuck, kid,” Bria said, staring at them with weary eyes. Ronan grinned. 

“Sorry, m’am,” Adam said, though his expression made it clear he both knew about the visiting hours and didn’t feel terribly apologetic about ignoring them. He tightened his grip on Ronan’s hand. 

“Sorry, not sorry, m’am,” Ronan mimicked, just to make her glare at him. 

Bria rolled her eyes. “All right, whatever,” she muttered, clearly giving up any lecture she might have offered. She gestured at Adam, saying, “I have actual medical stuff that needs to get done, so you need to get back to your room, and you—” she directed her gaze at Ronan—, “need to get your next round of antibiotics and pain meds. I’m sure you’ll have time to be clingy later.” 

Adam nodded, slowly climbing to his feet. He kept his grip on Ronan’s hand, lifting it up and kissing his knuckles again before letting go. “I’ll see you later.” 

Ronan smiled at him, savoring the unfamiliar calm that washed through him.

When the fresh round of medicine hit, Ronan let it drag him under, smiling as he felt the calm darkness waiting for him.

 

 

-

 

 

It took a week for Ronan to get released from the hospital, and he hated every minute of it. 

It wasn’t just the medical stuff, though that certainly played a part. Doctors and nurses visited with annoying regularity to take blood or switch out medicine or just talk to him about his “treatment plan” and “medical options.” Ronan didn’t care about any of it, much to Declan’s mounting irritation. 

“What’s the point of seeing a doctor in the first place if you aren’t going to listen to them?” Declan sniped as he flipped through the packet of medical information that Ronan had tossed aside.

“What’s the point of me reading that if you’re only going to tell me I’m doing it wrong anyway?” Ronan threw back, rolling his eyes. It’s not like he hadn’t been listening when Dr. McDowell went over his recovery plan. He already knew he was at risk for infection and sepsis; he didn’t see any need to investigate _why_. This attitude only made his nurses and doctors more frustrated with him, so Ronan spent most of the week watching them fall one-by-one into Declan’s charming net. It was sickening. 

Despite his irritation, the hospital itself was not the issue. Ronan hated being stuck in one place, but even he could admit that he needed it. 

The worst part was dealing with the police. 

Every day, Ronan dealt with questions about the dynamics between his kidnappers. The working assumption was that the group had an internal fight, and two of the kidnappers had shot the other three before fleeing, leaving Adam bound in the bathtub until an anonymous tip about the gunshots led the police to investigate. 

Ronan had his own opinions about Mr. Gray’s decision to leave Adam tied up until the police arrived – which he had expressed repeatedly, with unrestrained anger – but he had to admit it was a cleaner solution than trying to explain Mr. Gray’s involvement. 

In any case, the police were still trying to find the missing kidnappers, both to punish them and to get a better explanation of the fallout. Since Fuckface and Dipshit had been Ronan’s guards, most of the questions wound up being directed at him. 

He was more than happy to sell them out, because _fuck them_ , but when days passed and the police were no closer to finding them, Ronan grew tired of answering the same questions. 

Worse, the police were trying to use the media to bring the kidnappers to justice, and reporters from television stations and newspapers had been stalking the hospital the whole week, each trying to get the inside scoop on Ronan and Adam’s “harrowing experience,” as one show called it. 

Which is why Ronan found himself sitting in a wheelchair in a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a dark gray hoodie, scowling at the sketchy service hallway as Gansey and Blue whispered to each other about the upcoming exit. Adam braced himself on the back Ronan’s wheelchair, resting his purple cast on the handlebar as he waited patiently for the go-ahead. Leaning against the wall in her work scrubs, Bria held Ronan’s discharge forms in one hand as she checked her phone with the other, studiously ignoring them all. 

“Do we really need to go through all this secret spy shit?” Ronan muttered, casting a sidelong gaze at Gansey’s careful investigation of the cargo exit door. 

“As Declan has given me specific instructions _not_ to create a news story about you flicking off every single reporter,” Gansey replied, side-eyeing Ronan right back, “Yes, this is absolutely necessary.” 

“It’s like a swarm out front,” Adam added, making a face. His bruises had faded over the course of the week, turning half his face into a disturbing collage of green and yellow.

“I still say we should just let Ronan give it to them,” Blue said. “They’ve been really annoying.” 

“See?” Ronan said, gesturing at Blue as he gave Gansey a triumphant look. “Sargent has my back.” 

“I don’t like it when you two agree,” Gansey muttered, frowning. 

“No, you just don’t like when we disagree with you,” Blue replied, pointing at him with an expression that read, _gotcha_. 

“It’s twice as unnerving when you do it conjunction with each other,” Adam pointed out with a wry tone. 

“You have to admit, it would probably make for an awesome story,” Ronan said. “Local Kidnapping Victim Cusses Out Reporters for Being Nosy Assholes, more at eleven.” 

“I’d watch it,” Blue supported. Ronan grinned and held out his fist, which Blue bumped with a wink.

Gansey made a face at both of them, a familiar mix of annoyed and amused. “Adam was much more amenable to sneaking out than you are.” 

“Adam also reads _tarot cards_ and is going to some _math_ school,” Ronan said, deliberately sounding as disdainful as he could despite his growing smirk, “so there’s no accounting for taste there.” 

Adam rolled his eyes, though he looked down at Ronan with a fond smile. 

“That’s true, he is dating _you_ ,” Gansey muttered back, turning back to the door in exasperation. Ronan grinned as Adam laughed, turning away and tucking his face into his shoulder in an attempt to hide it. 

“What’s wrong with tarot cards?” Blue asked, scrunching her nose in mock irritation and spreading her arms wide. 

Before Ronan could respond and launch them into a sure-to-become genuine fight, Gansey pointed out, “Henry’s pulling up now.” 

On cue, Bria pushed off the wall and handed the large packet of discharge papers to Ronan. “Okay kid,” she began, “Like we discussed earlier: follow your aftercare instructions unless you want your bullet wound to get infected. Change your bandage regularly and keep it clean. If you start to get a fever or feel sick, _call us_. I don’t want to see you getting an infection because you were too much of a chickenshit to get more medical attention, you get me?” 

“Are you sure the other nurses won’t just kill him out of spite at that point?” Blue asked. 

“Hey, I’m a fucking delight,” Ronan said. 

“Lies,” Adam replied immediately. Ronan scowled up at him in betrayal, but Adam grinned back, unapologetic. 

“Can’t promise anything,” Bria answered Blue, shrugging. She turned back to Ronan, “But your medications are all there. Take your antibiotics—”

“Yeah, yeah, take them until they’re out, don’t overdo it with the pain meds, blah-blah, I got it,” Ronan said, waving her off. “Jesus Mary fuck, it’s not like I’m not going to be coming back for a follow-up in a week.” 

“Shockingly, my faith in you staying out of trouble that long is low,” Bria sniped back, raising an eyebrow. 

“Good instincts,” Gansey said, shooting her a winning smile. He then looked at Ronan and Blue, gesturing to the door and saying, “But we should probably leave while we still can.” 

Bria pushed Ronan’s wheelchair to the door of Henry’s car, a surprisingly tame black Audi that purred quietly in the nearly empty loading dock. Henry leaned out the car window and greeted, “Your ride awaits, my liege.” 

Ronan flicked him off, prompting Henry to laugh and say, “Please, we all know I’m not talking to you.” 

Unaware, Gansey was in the middle of thanking Bria, who seemed amused by his particular strain of gallantry. She nodded and said “uh-huh” in the appropriate moments as she helped load Ronan into the backseat of the vehicle, but clearly regarded Gansey with the same bemused appreciation that most Henrietta residents did, as though he was more fairytale figure than boy.

Leaving the hospital was a literal breath of fresh air, though Ronan quickly rolled up the window against the sticky Virginia heat. They bypassed the main entrance to the hospital by using a tucked away service road, and Ronan stared out the window as the trees whipped by in a dazzling array of green and brown. Henry was playing something bright and catchy on the radio as Gansey and Blue joked with him about their daring escape. Adam stayed silent and contemplative, though he smiled as he took Ronan’s hand in his, their fingers interlocking in a familiar embrace. 

Ronan stared back out at the street as they took the turnoff on the highway, heading swiftly out toward the Barns. He imagined Matthew and Opal waiting under the plum tree as Declan fussed with the new security system he insisted on installing. Ronan knew a party was waiting for them, full of concerned family and friends who wanted to officially welcome them back after their ordeal. It wasn’t something he was particularly looking forward to, but he could accept the attention for one day. After all they’d been through, it was nice to finally be back around people who cared. 

Despite his fresh calm, Ronan knew their ordeal wasn’t something that could be easily brushed away. Both he and Adam still had visits to the hospital and the police station in their future, as well as the recommended therapy sessions that Declan insisted Ronan at least try. For Adam’s sake, Ronan had agreed, though he remained heavily skeptical. The past week felt like an indelible stain on his heart, and he doubted it would be easily washed away. 

Regardless, with the gentle vibrations of the car beneath him and bright sunlight on his skin, Ronan couldn’t help but feel lighthearted. As the town faded away and turned into lush countryside, he sat back, brushing shoulders with Adam. He caught Adam’s faint smile in his periphery, eyes watching him warmly. Ronan settled in with a deep sigh, closing his eyes and squeezing Adam’s hand in his. 

It was finally over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Hospitals, medical talk, swearing, discussions of prior hostage situations & kidnapping & guilt
> 
> OH MY GOODNESS it's finished. \o/ I started this story as a way to jot down a couple pages of a plot bunny, and without warning it turned into this whole story, so I hope that everyone enjoyed the ending! I'm such a huge fan of The Raven Cycle and writing this story was a great way for me to channel some of my genuine delight at finding this series, so I hope it was fun to read. (The character of Bria, for those curious, was based on my actual coworker, who is just as blunt and hilarious.)
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed so far! I really appreciate the support! And if you liked this chapter or the story overall, please let me know in comments! I love reading everyone's reactions :) I really hope this ending was satisfying after such a long and brutal plot. I tried to offer as much comfort as I could to balance out the hurt. If you're interested, please feel free to follow me on Tumblr (panaili) as well. I sometimes post stuff there :)
> 
> As always, many thanks to @Maliciousways for being a kickass beta and an even better best friend. (To date, I have gotten two of my best friends to read this series, so I am feeling like a pretty victorious recruiter, haha.)


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